


Trusting a God AU: Training

by LilithsLullaby



Series: Trust Me [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chains, Choking, Collars, Drinking to Cope, Dubious Consent, F/M, From Sex to Love, Knife Play, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Not Canon Compliant, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Sakaar (Marvel), Self-Insert, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Wax Play, breath play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithsLullaby/pseuds/LilithsLullaby
Summary: AU: Retelling of the beginning of Loki x Reader’s early sexual encounters from “Trusting a God”.Stuck on Sakaar with the God of Mischief, you must find a way to survive. Together. But soon your survival becomes dependent on Loki's need for companionship, as well as your own.





	1. Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> ** Moving this AU to its own work so I can properly flesh it out as I desire. It has been removed from the original Trusting a God ** 
> 
> Original Note:  
> I always tend to come running back to my original love when rewatching “Thor Ragnarok” and the latest news of a certain limited series has me feeling thankful and newly inspired. So I couldn’t resist revisiting my favorite tale. 
> 
> I have been playing with this idea for awhile now. When I first started writing “Trusting a God”, I never meant for it to end up as long as it did. Looking back, there are a lot of things I would have done differently. This being one of them: letting the Reader and Loki explore their sexuality over a period of time rather than it catapulting in one night of virginity taking bliss. So I hope you enjoy this retelling. More to come.

“Do you want to know what I think?” 

He is seated beside you, lounged back, plopping globe-like fruit into his open mouth. He hasn’t moved since you both arrived back at your shared suite moments earlier. Since coming back from meeting with the ruler of this trash planet. A man they called the Grandmaster. 

“No,” you reply bluntly. You are leaning against the window beside him, if only to keep a few feet of distance between you. The world of Sakaar is at your back. It is a vibrant city of discarded metal and forgotten people. A planet littered with lost things. And you are now one of them, thanks to the man at your side. You can hardly look at him, can hardly speak. You haven’t said so much as word to him since returning. Your muted glare is enough of a message all on its own.  

But perhaps that single uttered word, that “No”, is a sign that you might break your vow of silence if he were to prod you further. He smirks in response, chomping his teeth on another round morsel. Juice dribbles down his chin. He unceremoniously licks the remnants from the corner of his mouth as he stares at you. You watch his tongue slither out from beyond his lips. He notices.

“I think you’re scared you might actually enjoy it,” he explains. His lips curl into a cruel smirk.

You try not to roll your eyes, opting, instead, to look away. Your gaze is stuck to the window framing your temporary home. And yet, with your eyes held to the decoupage world below, you know he is slowly strutting toward you. Each step is purposeful, heavy. 

“I think... that you might come to enjoy such a life.”

 _Such a life_. The life of a slave to the God of Lies. That’s what he’d have you be. That’s the act you’d need to portray in order to stay alive. It’s the story he wove so seductively as you both held audience with the Grandmaster. But he held the reigns. You were merely at the mercy of his good graces. You could do nothing as he smiled triumphantly and introduced you as his property. As the Grandmaster eyed you like a fresh slab of honeycomb, waiting to be licked.  

 _Mine._ He told the Grandmaster. _She is mine._

“It wouldn’t be a life,” you hiss back. Your head turns sharply toward the sound of his voice. Your eyes widen at his sudden proximity. He hovers over you. Like an ominous shadow. Stifling. Suffocating. “It’d be a charade," you add in a whisper. 

His eyes darken slightly as he stares down at you. “To me it wouldn’t be,” he replies. He is so close now you can smell the sweet bitterness left in his mouth by the alien fruit. You can almost taste it. “I see it in you, you know. The part of your soul that wants this.”

You breathe deeply and hold it in. Your lungs fill but your heart is left empty. “You don’t know anything about what I want.”

“Then tell me.” His body presses into yours. “Tell me what you want.” His hands reach up, daring to caress your arms but not quite touching your skin. 

For a moment, you can’t breathe. You can’t think. You can only focus in on that unfamiliar chill of his presence overwhelming the voice of reason screaming in the back of your mind. But finally, somehow, you manage to find a few words. They leave your lips like lifted vapor. 

“I want to go home.”

He immediately steps back, as if your words have unhinged whatever mask he’d once been wearing. His expression hardens like stone.

“I will get you safely back to Midgard,” he replies harshly. He turns his back to you. “But you have to play the part. This won’t work unless...”

“Why?” You snap. “Why was this the only option? Why couldn’t you have thought of some other clever plan? Aren’t you suppose to be good at this sort of thing?” 

“At what?” He asks. Though you are sure he doesn’t need the clarification. 

“Lies and deceit,” you say regardless.

“I will get you home,” he repeats. He turns his eyes toward the large expansive window. “I will.” 

“And I should believe you... why?”

“Have I given you any reason not to?” His hands twitch behind his back but he makes no move to face you.

You stare at his tense shoulders, at his slender frame held up against the reflective glass. From the moment you landed on this strange planet together, a tether had formed between you. One you thought only wrought with mutual hatred. But woven beneath its delicate threads is another emotion. Something you dare not examine any further. Not yet. And beyond the fragile veil of your heart is a truth you can not speak. You have no reason not to trust him. Not personally. His past is not your own. You bore only a small part in the aftermath of his destruction. The man in front of you is as much a stranger as he is a figment of all those tales of horror.

But no one is made solely of spoken words and whispered fears. His actions would speak of his truth.  

A knock on the door diverts both your eyes, ripping Loki’s concentration from the view beyond the window.  The door opens moments later and a woman steps meekly past the archway. She is frail, hallow. Her clothing hangs in from her slender form. And while her face is downcast, you can see the strokes across her cheeks that mark her as subordinate. Lesser. Just as Loki would have you be.

“The Grandmaster has requested your presence at his party this evening,” she announces, in a voice no louder than a whisper. 

“A party?” Loki’s eyes alight with promise. “Well, I suppose we can’t say no.” 

You scowl up at him. “Of course we can.” You turn to the sent servant. “We won’t be going.”

Loki’s hand claps down hard upon your shoulder. His grip is tight. A warning. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says through gritted teeth, and to the woman, “Tell the Grandmaster we are honored and look forward to the festivities.” 

“The party will begin promptly in ten minutes,” the woman says flatly. 

Loki’s smile falters and yet he still responds with, “Then we shall make our leave shortly.”

She bows her head in understanding and steps out from the room. The door closes behind her. You immediately shake off Loki’s touch. It’s the first time he has touched you. And it won’t be the last. 

“What if this is the orgy the Grandmaster mentioned?” Your face reddens as the words leave your lips. “Loki, we can’t go to something like that. I can’t do it.”

His face brightens with the utterance of his name. He smiles in satisfaction if only for a brief moment, before he stiffens once again. “It won’t be,” he reassures. “It’s just a party. We can manage a party.”

He reaches into the confines of his pocket and retrieves a velvet cord embellished with a golden charm, his sigil. "I'd have you wear this tonight," he says softly. "As a sign of your fidelity and ownership to me."

"The mark of a slave," you hiss in disgust.

Unaffected, he lifts his hand to your neck secures the new jewelry into place. 

"The mark of a slave would be a heavy metal chain and a collar so tight you could barely breathe," he tells you as his hand wraps around your throat for emphasis. His grip tightens ever so slightly. You gasp in alarm, reaching up to pry his hand away. But then your gaze meets, if only for a moment. You could swear you see an equal sense of alarm reflected in his emerald eyes. His mouth opens slightly and immediately, he loosens his grasp around your throat. He lets his fingers linger upon your neck. He holds your pulse point just beneath his touch. He could so easily kill you. It would take only a meager grip of the God to watch the life drain from your eyes. You both know what his touch is capable of. And yet, his caress turns oddly gentle. He traces a line across your exposed shoulder. A chill races up your spine.

“I won’t leave your side,” he promises. His hand falls down the expanse of your arm. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”

 _But what merit did a promise hold from the lips of a Liar God? I can’t trust that he won’t harm me himself. I can’t trust him at all._  

You blink away your fear and stare up at him. His eyes glisten against the fading light of the twin moons beyond your window. He offers you his arm as you make to exit your quarters. There was no one else you could turn to for help. No one else who would care about a wayward human. Only the Grandmaster showed any interest in your existence, but his intent seemed just as dubious as Loki's. Here now, held in that delicate velvet collar, is your only opportunity for escape. So, with a relinquished sigh, you loop your arm through his and leave the room. 

Together, you stroll through the Center Complex, the Sakaarian equivalent to a palace. Loki keeps hold of your hand placed atop his arm and smiles pleasantly at the local bourgeois passing by. Up ahead, you see a cluster of humanoids and creatures alike. They push their way into an open space, laughing, sociable. Two attendees up ahead turn to greet you, nodding in unison. Their matching blue eyes glisten like forgotten gems. Loki leans into you, his breath pooling against your neck. You try not to flinch. You are being watched.

“If you please me tonight,” Loki begins in a gentle whisper. His lips trace the curve of your ear. “Perhaps I will reward you.”

“I don’t need to please anyone,” you growl and step away. You keep your movement fluid, to appear as a purposeful sway toward the party ahead, rather than a shift away from your would-be captor. “Least of all you.”

“It would serve you well to please me,” he says in a sort of laugh. He moves forward to meet you. He rests his hand against your lower back as you move with the crowd. “Besides...how did you put it? Oh yes, we have a _charade_ to play out.” 

You keep close to his side as you weave through the thong of attendees. Servants have already started passing around drinks in fluted glasses, and small bite-sized hors d’oeuvres that seem to move atop their serving trays. You jerk your hand away from the offerings in disgust. Loki immediately takes a glass and hands it to you. You stare down at the glowing elixir with blatant trepidation, something Loki quickly notices. 

“Think of it as vodka,” he whispers. He takes a second glass for himself and clinks it against yours. _Cheers_ , he mouths without speaking. 

“You’ve had vodka?” You ask with a humored expression. You lift the glass to your lips but hesitate before drinking.

 “I’ve sampled many of Midgard’s finer delicacies,” he replies; a wordless confession hidden within his cool tone. He takes a sip from his glass, smirking over the rim. You watch his throat bob as he swallows.

You quickly down a too-large gulp of the mystery drink to drown the sudden impulse rushing through your veins. It burns all the way down. You can feel a heat rolling up over your cheeks as your heart begins to thunder up into your throat. “I think I want to find something to eat that isn’t still alive,” you mumble. You shift forward, daring him to stop you. But he doesn’t move, only his eyes wander ever so slightly from your now rosy cheeks to your parted lips. 

“Don’t venture too far,” he warns as he reaches forward and taps the sigil at the nape of your neck. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. 

You swirl around and briskly maneuver toward the other end of the room, where a row of tables promises sustenance. You survey the options carefully. Everything seems mildly suspect. Colors too vibrant. Unnatural. Shapes and texture too foreign. Inedible. You pluck up what appears to be something akin to a dinner roll. You pull free a small, fluffy morsel and place it to your extended tongue. It melts in your mouth like cotton candy and tastes of anise. It isn’t horrible. You take another bite. 

When the roll is all but consumed, you turn around, ready to return to your faux master. But he has faded into the crowd, seemingly vanished amongst the casual chatter and multicolored opulence. Suddenly panicked, you shuffle through the gathered hordes. You mutter apologies and turn down more offerings of “food”. But the more you search, the more you realize just how lost you truly are. The beings around you are alien and strange. And you, a fragile mass of blood and bone, are a mere speck amongst them. Breakable. Finite. 

Laughter draws your attention back behind you. You swirl around to meet the sound. Tall slender beauties, with features too exaggerated to be human, lounge in a curved enclave to your right. Their skin is a pleasant, soft violet; a stark contrast to the silver of their cocktail dresses and the brilliant shimmering green of their eyes. The hue is no less alluring than that of their male companion, who is situated between them. A violet breast is pressed to either side of his chest. He is still slowly sipping from the same fluted glass as they press nearer. Their voices flood toward you, muffled and tinny, as if echoed underwater. In a fury, you storm forward.  

You begin to say his name but think better of it. “Master,” you say correctly. “I’ve been looking for you.” You do not conceal your glare, however, which holds a vibrant distaste for his new companions. They each turn in time toward you with unfazed grins, showing off their predatory black teeth. 

“Well, you’ve found me, pet,” he says as he lifts his glass to you in a mock greeting. “Maybe next time you won’t run off.” 

“I didn’t...” You swallow the words. Your new name hangs in the air between you. _Pet_. Your eyes hold to his for a moment too long before shifting to the companion at his left. Her hands have begun to wander up his thigh, moving dangerously high. “We need to....”

“Need to what?” He glares. “Leave?”

“No. Just...” _Just leave them_ , you want to say. Your eyes hold steady to the strange woman’s hand. Your mind races, searching for a viable excuse to make him leave their side. But why? Why are you suddenly so vested in who he chooses for his company? Why did it matter? “We should say hello to the Grandmaster,” you finally manage. 

The truth must be held in your eyes, in the soft sheen of virgin tears. Loki’s own gaze widens upon you. He bolts to his feet, catching his new companions off guard. They murmur annoyances and reach out for him. Like sirens attempting to pull their sailor back below the waves. 

“I’m sorry, my lovelies, but I must be going,” he sighs apologetically. He kisses each of their extended hands in turn. They tilt their heads in mild satisfaction just before he turns to leave. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you further into the party until there is a fair distance at his back. 

“That was reckless,” he hisses in a whisper. “A slave wouldn’t dare tell her master what to do. Where to be. Who to be with.”

“I’m not your slave,” You bark back. “I’m done with this game of yours.”

“This is a game of survival, mortal. And if you want to stay alive, you should damn well act like it!” His words are an arrow, shot straight through your chest. You halt and release the floodgates held so precariously around your heart. A single droplet falls as you teeter back and forth upon your heels.

"Fine," you growl, wiping the tear away in annoyance. 

He comes in front of you suddenly, hands held to your shoulders. He lowers himself to your level; something a Master would never dare do for a slave. But you refuse to meet his gaze. Instead, you sniffle back the rebellious display of weakness and bite back the urge to let more tears free.  

“Look at me.” His voice has softened. His touch is oddly tentative, unsure. But still, you do not comply. He continues speaking regardless.  “We have to do this to get back home,” he whispers. “I know my words mean nothing to you but I promise I will not harm you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” 

You finally turn to meet his gaze. "Why?"

It is only a simple word. A question. But it leaves the God speechless. He blinks up at you, his touch falling away. 

"Why?" you ask again, louder this time. Your hands form into fists. You watch as he swallows. 

"I suppose... I suppose I have no real reason to," he answers finally. His gaze falls to your collar, to the shimmering gold of his sigil. He touches it gingerly.

This man, this villain as the world would have you believe, this God of lies and mayhem, has no real reason to help you. He has no reason to keep you alive and yet... here you stand. Survival would have been easier without the burden of your existence. But here he stays.

His truth appears like fractured glass in the shimmering gloss of his eyes. Like the reflection of the past. Of who he was. Of who, perhaps yet, he could be. So you believe his words, if only as testimony from the man hidden beneath the mask. You stare into his eyes and a repressed impulse, clawing just under your skin, is set free. It bursts forth from the frozen remnants of your heart, letting reason die. You lunge forward and touch your lips to his. At first, he stiffens, his grip tightening upon your shoulders. But after a few seconds of moving your mouth against his with regrettable insistence, he opens up.  

Just as he has no reason to protect you, you have no reason to kiss him. Only that you want to, that you need to. You need to feel something real, tangible, amongst all the lies and uncertainty of this fractured world. In your inexperience, you move as he moves, mimicking him as best you can. You let him take the lead, which he happily does. He moans softly before tugging gently on your lower lip. You lose sense of your surroundings, enraptured by his control over you. And slowly, the taste of him floods your mouth. His tongue holds a sweetness you are certain isn’t from the fruit and alcohol alone. But from the allure of his sin, from the lies so delicately laced upon his tongue. An arsenal of deceit. Your hands fall down the length of his arms. He sighs into your open mouth.  

He stands straight and lifts his hand to rest against the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He holds you there as the force of his mouth pulls the air from your lungs and bruises your lips. And as his tongue presses and swirls against your own, you lose all remaining composure. You pull away abruptly, the spell effectively broken.  

As you step back, you stare down at Loki’s lips. They are slightly red and swollen. You are sure yours are the same. But there, hidden beneath his mask of mischief, is a look of utter surprise. A reaction he hasn’t tried to conceal. 

“Was that more to your liking, master?” You ask. Your voice is trembling and not nearly as brazen as you’d hoped it would be. Perhaps you had meant for the kiss to be a show of defiance. To prove to him that you are, in fact, willing to do what it takes to stay alive. But perhaps it had done more than just that. He licks his lips in response and smirks. 

“Loki!”

You both turn around and find the Grandmaster approaching with wide open arms. His vibrant robes drag behind him.  

“What a beautiful display that was,” he exclaims with the slow clap of his hands. “Yes, very nice. Very... very wonderful.”

“Grandmaster.” Loki bows slightly in greeting. He pulls you back to hide you behind the thin mass of his body. Or perhaps behind his cape. “I apologize if our behavior was inappropriate”

“No, no. On the contrary, it is encouraged! She truly is exceptional.” The Grandmaster peers behind him to get a good look at you. His expression is alarmingly lustful. “Though, she could use a bit of training.” 

“Beg your pardon?” Loki stutters. 

“It’s clear you do not kiss her hardly enough.” His eyes alight with humor. “Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” 

Your mouth gapes open in surprise. _We’ve been found out. He could tell. He could tell I’m no pleasure slave. I’m a novice. A Virgin. A nothing, nobody_. But as your mind swirls into a chaotic panic, Loki responds smoothly. “There isn’t much time for kissing when there are so many other delicious ways to occupy her mouth.”

You swallow down your shock and disgust, remaining a statue, impartial to his words. The explanation seems to please the Grandmaster, however. 

“Yes, yes. I’m sure that’s true.” His smile is too wide. Like a tiger’s grin. Your hand is on Loki back then, squeezing at his leathers. He winces slightly. 

“Your hospitality is well appreciated, but I think we must retire for the evening,” Loki says with another slight bow at the waist. He reaches back for your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Something in your kiss had created an unexpected closeness between you. You can feel it in the way his fingers intertwine with yours. You are a team now. And you are thankful for that, at least. 

The Grandmaster eyes you both with brief suspicion before he motions for you to take your leave. You eagerly do so, shuffling out of the party. 

“I do hope you’ll stay longer at my next soirée,” the Grandmaster calls off after you. “It’s sure to be quite... titillating!”

Loki never once lets go of your hand. Not as you walk through the halls of the Center Complex. Not as you breeze through the surrounding alleyways, clustered with midnight Sakaarians.  

But when he does, it’s to slam shut the door to your shared suite. And suddenly you aren’t sure what kind of team you really are. 


	2. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to "Jealous Sea" by Meg Myers
> 
> And.... we're back! Life has been crazy, work's been crazier (yup, I am using the age old excuse that life got in the way). But I am happy to be back and hope you enjoy :)

They snapped the crude metal collar around your neck the second you stepped past the threshold. You never even had a chance to protest before you were marked as a slave.

“What is this?” You gasped, shoving hard against the servant who had supplied your new accessory. She fumbled back but her eyes remained downcast, unseeing. She was not the one to blame.

You turned your attention to Loki instead. Your eyes brimmed with fiery accusation as you pulled against the clamped metal. It left your neck raw and chaffed. “Get this off of me!”

“You’ll get use to it,” he said nonchalantly with the wave of his hand. “I’m no stranger to chains myself.”

He too had refreshed his attire. He wore the colors of this planet; brilliant and oversaturated. But his coat, while highlighted with vibrant yellows, was at its core as black as his more familiar garb. Your gifted ensemble, however, barely even qualified as clothing. You wore a knee length dress, the same hue as your skin. Only the trim of red leather scooping around the curve of your breasts served as contrast enough to discern the cloth from flesh.

“Shall we go?” Loki said to the servant as if you hadn’t spoken at all. He had barely looked at you since returning. But as he straightened his coat, his eyes drifted up the expanse of your bare legs. You watched the round bulb of his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Who exactly did you tell them we were?” You snapped. His gaze lifted and locked onto yours. You’d been separated for only a few moments, long enough for Loki to weave a tale that had secured your safety, but also your degradation.

“Don’t you trust me?” Loki replied with a smirk. But his eyes were glassy. As if he barely trusted himself. Trust was a novel concept for the God of Lies after all.

“No,” you growled in sincerity. But you had no other option. You were metaphorically, and quite literally, backed into a wall. So you stepped toward him. Side by side in the doorway, he wrapped his fist around the dangling cord at your neck like a leash. He pulled you forward, yanking against the chain whenever you failed to keep pace with him. You told yourself you were letting him do this, that you had to play along if it meant getting home safely. But that didn’t mean you had to do so in silent defeat. When finally he pulled on the collar, hard enough to choke you, you yanked back against the chain with vengeance. This caused him to fumble a bit with a muttered curse, tripping over his own feet. Mortified, he regained his composure and straightened himself as best he could. The servant glanced back with an expression of dismay and confusion, stopping long enough to make sure you’d both keep up. Once she turned her attention back around, Loki suddenly pulled you forward. He held you against him with his fist wrapped securely around your collar.

“Don’t try anything that stupid while we hold audience with their ruler,” he warned, his voice laced with venom. He presented his fangs to you as if threatening to sink them into your throat. “Let me remind you of one very simple fact, mortal. I don’t _need_ you to survive this world. I don’t _need_ you for this plan to work. I don’t need you at all.” 

Your heart crawled up into your throat with each forceful beat. You tried to swallow it down but you could barely move. You had made one fatal mistake. You had let yourself believe Loki was a mere man. But he was no man at all. He was a God. A vengeful God. And there would be no mercy if you fell out of his good graces. Obey Loki and live or defy him and die on this alien planet. Those were your choices.

There was only one viable path toward freedom.

He must have seen the fear swelling in your eyes, laced with virgin tears. His anger faltered and he let his hand fall away. You gasped a full gulp of air as if breathing could cleanse you of his words. But you couldn’t forget.

_I don’t need you._

“Stay quiet and let me do the talking.” His voice has become much gentler but you still sensed the demon lurking just below the surface. You retreated into yourself and fell into place behind him. Loki was the villain, that’s what they’d told you. That’s what you believed, even more so now with the memory of his hand around your throat. But beyond his madness, there must be some reason. A plan. An escape route he had in mind. You could trust that at least. The light at the end of the tunnel. For as devilish as Loki may be, he was by no means an idiot. He was smart and cunning. He’d find a way off this trash planet. And you’d follow him long enough to get home. Like holding onto the fin of a shark in hopes of reaching the surface, hoping he won’t turn and sink his jaw into your flesh and bone. 

On Earth, you could reverse the roles. You could deliver him straight to S.H.I.E.l.D. You could extract justice yourself if you so desired. But for now, you’d let him believe you were his mortal chess piece.

You stayed quiet as you were escorted to a grand room where their supposed ruler sat hunched over on his makeshift throne, looking bored. However, he straightened immediately as you entered his line of sight. He didn’t seem young, but neither did he seem quite old. As if in a limbo of sorts with his own age. His eyes alit with interest, giving his appearance a more youthful glow. Loki took his expression as approval and began to argue your case for survival, for refuge. He called himself traveling royalty, a king who’d lost his way.

You imagined that chess board then. The pieces of his working slowly moved into place. Forward ascending but reserved. He needed to assess his opponent. 

He let the chain fall as he spoke. But you quickly came to realize that the chain marked you as property to be gawked at and feasted upon. To be lusted after and consumed. The guards around you made that much clear as their eyes freely roamed your ample display of flesh. You didn’t have a choice. Not when the servants dressed and bathed you. Not when you fell onto this planet in the arms of a wreckless God. Your body felt numb, drained of blood and feeling. Helpless. You watched with a hollow gaze as the perched ruler too racked his eyes over your body and moaned his satisfaction behind gold encrusted hands. 

“Tell me, sweet thing,” he said directly to you, dismissively motioning for Loki to stop speaking. He, in turn, looked taken aback. But only for a moment. He quietly adjusted himself, took a step back and smiled. The perfectly polite guest. “Is this man who he claims to be?”

The pendulum had been swung in your direction. A chance presented. You could grasp onto this merger opportunity and choose to trust this man, this Grandmaster. Maybe he could be reasonable. If you explained your situation, maybe he could help you return home without the need for this act of slave and master to play out fully. But you didn’t know him. Loki, however, you knew. You knew he was volatile. You knew he was unpredictable. But you trusted his ambition, his need for success and worship. So you held your gaze forward, waiting. You had a role to play.

“Well?” The Grandmaster prompted again, impatiently. But still, you stood quietly. Only after a moment of both Loki and the Grandmaster sighing in annoyance did you let your eyes casually drift toward Loki. When finally your eyes met, a pulse of understanding threaded between you. His jaw relaxed and the subtle curve of a smile crept into the corner of his mouth.

“She only speaks when I allow it,” Loki clarified. A glint of approval glistened in his emerald ores. “Answer him, pet.”

You nodded to him. _This isn’t just your game, Loki. It’s ours._

“He lied to you. He is no king,” you began. Loki’s hands tightened quickly into fists. “He is indeed royalty, but lower class. The bastard son of our true beloved king.” Loki looked as if he might lunge at you. But you enjoyed watching him squirm, if only for a little while longer. 

“Very well,” the Grandmaster huffed, leaning back into his seat. He seemed ready to dismiss you both. Loki grew hot with anger.

“But he is cunning,” you went on. “Favored over the King’s legitimate son. Loyalists to the crown believe and support his inherence to the throne upon his father’s passing, which will not be long now. He is very sick, you see. Weeks, perhaps even days away from leaving this world. Our kingdom is located on a rather prosperous cluster of mines, which will be my master’s alone to control. Gain his loyalty and he can promise you riches beyond measure.”

Loki’s hands relaxed. His shoulders slacked, perhaps in disbelief. And while he did not smile, he gave you a subtle nod in approval.

_Checkmate._

“I’m sure his riches hold no value in comparsion to you, my dear,” the Grandmaster purred. He stood from his throne and began to stroll nearer. “A rather rare specimen. Where did you find her?”

“Earth,” Loki told him honestly. “She is human.”

“A human,” the Grandmaster repeated in interest. “A prized commodity in these parts. Delicious.” He licked his lips. “How much?”

“I’m sorry?” Loki stepped automatically between you and the approaching aggressor. A physical blockade.

“How much would you sell her for?” The Grandmaster clarified with annoyance. He did not like to repeat himself. “I’ve never tasted a human. One to check off the list.”

“Mine.” The word came as a hiss. Perhaps not intentionally. “She’s mine.” 

You snapped your gaze to Loki and watched as he lifted his chin in defiance. He reached out once more to pull at the metal links of your ownership. But his movements were gentle, merely a means to get you closer. You stumbled toward his side with round, uncertain eyes.

“I don’t plan on selling her,” he added to the ruler. “That is nonnegotiable, I am afraid.”

You swallowed hard. You forgot how to blink. Hadn’t he just said he didn’t need you? You were disposable. That much was made very clear. Why had he changed his stance on the matter?

“A pity,” the ruler sighed with displeasure. However, he smiled and traced a finger along the sharp edge of Loki’s jaw. Loki tensed but did not move as the man caressed him. “But you, my friend, seem to be otherwise negotiable.”

Loki turned his head away in a manner that might have seemed casual but you saw the true disgust in his eyes. “If we have your leave, we’d like to retire for the evening,” Loki said, his tone remarkably even. “We’ve come a long way and the journey has been rather tiresome.”

“Of course.” The Grandmaster backed away. “I often host many soirées. Can I expect you both to be in attendance... while you stay with us?”

“We’d be honored,” Loki replied with a bow at his waist. He turned and led you both to the door.

“My last orgy was quite the affair,” the Grandmaster spoke to your backs. “I suppose I have to exceed my own expectations with the next one.”

 _Orgy?_  

You turned to Loki, to gauge his reaction, but he had already begun his retreat from the room. There was not a single word exchanged as the servant led you both to your new shared suite, a lavish room reserved only for the Grandmaster’s most loyal subjects. Even in the privacy of the room, you suddenly felt raw, overexposed. You crossed your arms over your chest. You wished with hopeless abandon for something comfortable to wear. Something less revealing.

The Grandmaster would not stop until he found a way to get what he wanted. Until he obtained you as part of his collection of conquests. But terror had become a part of your DNA, forcing your defiance to the shadows. As Loki shut the door, you caught a glimpse of his expression. You saw a twisted, yet familiar brand of fear darken across his own eyes. But when he spoke, it faded into mere illusion.

“I’m... impressed,” he said, sliding into the room. Perhaps it could have been taken as a complaint, if not for the added, “for a mortal, you aren’t as half-witted as you look.”

“Thanks,” you muttered. You stared forward toward the bed. It was large enough to fit three large men if necessary but that provided little comfort. You resolved to sit on the ledge beside the window. With your cheek to the glass, the cool surface became an unlikely comfort. You close your eyes. 

“Are you tired?” Loki asked behind you.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. But you quickly found him at your side, pulling at your arm until you were forced to stand.

“You are tired,” he stated. He led you, hand gripped firmly under your elbow, toward the bed. Your eyes widened in fear. He noticed. “I can sleep on the floor if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Does it matter what I prefer?” You asked as you shook your arm out of his hold. The words left you without much thought of recourse. “You could have sold me to that man, you know. Maybe I’m worth enough to buy yourself a ticket off this godforsaken planet.”

“I could have,” Loki agreed with a nod. “But I didn’t. I won’t.” 

“Why?” 

He crossed his arms, almost in contemplation. “I haven’t decided yet,” he answered rather glibly. “It depends on what you do next.”

“What I do...Does anything I do really matter to you?”

“Now it does.” He turned his back to you as he made his way back toward the window. He set his hand to his reflection and peered down at the world below. “Now that you’ve made yourself a player in this game, everything you do will have a consequence. Good or bad. Remember that.” 

That night, the consequence had been in your favor: sound sleep, in the solitude of your own bed, as Loki sat watch by the window. But the slamming of that same door snaps you back into the present, where your actions may result in less savory results. All memory of Loki’s fragile, but purposeful, compassion crumbles to dust. You stare forward. Your shoulders tremble slightly under the premise of his current rage. You’d failed to obey and would face the repercussions.

“That was bold, mortal,” Loki growls. He leaves his palm pressed flat against the shut door. His face is hidden beneath a curtain of his dark hair, hung loose about his face. “Very bold.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t... I don’t know what I...” You are fumbling, unsure how to explain your actions. You were certain he’d be impressed by your tenacity but his tone of voice leaves you with the sudden impulse to apologize. Perhaps a kiss had been an unwise choice. But in that moment, you couldn’t think of any other option. You had only wanted to shut him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

Loki spins on his heels and comes toward you. The closer he gets, the more uncertain you feel. His eyes are narrowed, stern. The leathers or his coat whip behind him.

“Sorry?” He hisses. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper. You stumble backward, away from the threat of his proximity until your spine makes contact with the wall. But you are determined to stay resilient. So, you straighten your posture and lift your jaw. You will not allow him to think he has bested you yet.

“For what exactly?” He lingers in front of you, at a distance. A predator stalking his prey with purposeful strides back and forth. “Are you sorry that you kissed me? Or are you sorry that we stopped at all?”

Your eyes bulge but while your mouth slacks open, no words leave you. He chuckles in response. His anger morphs so quickly into mockery. Like the flip of a coin. 

“Did you not want me to stop?” He asks when he is only an arm’s length away. Barely a breath held between you. “Do you wish I’d given you more attention than those two women?”

“No, of course not!” You protest suddenly in a gust of resistance. “That’s ridiculous. I was only trying to...”

“So you weren’t jealous then?” 

“No,” you spit back. But you feel the betrayal of your own body, the heat rushing into your cheeks. It wasn’t jealousy you had felt but perhaps it had been the realization of a choice. An opportunity to the turn the tide of fate in your favor. 

“I see,” he says in satisfaction. “So you were jealous.”

“I was not!” You shout. Your whole body begins to shake. “I was trying to prove myself.” 

He laughs louder. “Alright, prove yourself.”

With only enough time to blink, he captures your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more. You stand frozen in his grasp. You stare forward wide eyed at him as he moves his mouth. He urges his tongue past the firm line of your lips. You bite down on his lower lip and shove against him hard, causing him to jerk back with only mild surprise. While he is still off guard, you strike the side of his face with the palm of your hand. His body jerks slightly with the momentum of your assault. 

Breathing heavily, you watch as he slowly lifts his fingertips to the blush of his cheek, the mark of impact. His fingertips move slowly, gingerly pressing against his lip, now smeared with blood. You can still taste his metallic bitterness as a warm reminder in your mouth. He smirks and turns to meet your gaze, only to lunge at you once more. He pins you to the wall this time, the hand that struck him held above your head, the other at your side. You snap your teeth at him in defiance. _I’ll do it again_ , you want to scream.

But he can only smile in response, as if you posed no threat at all. 

“He was right,” he says in a sigh. His breath cascades over you. “You clearly have not been kissed enough.”

Embarrassed, you shove him away with your knee aimed toward his groin. He stumbles back, laughing. You sulk toward the bed and fall heavy against it. You try to hide your shame by rubbing your lips clean of his caress. 

“I don’t care what you think,” you mutter. Your face feels impossibly hot, the collar suddenly too restricting. You shove a finger beneath it, pulling. It does not budge. 

“Well I think I’m flattered,” he laughs before licking his lips. “You can put on quite the show, darling.”

“He needed to see us,” you say toward the mattress as you turn onto your side. “He needs to buy that we are... involved. Since that is the role you’ve chosen for us to play out here.”

“That was hardly convincing.”

You don’t look up but you can hear his footsteps, one at a time, as he comes toward the bed.

“How many men have you slept with?” He asks, rather nonchalantly. “Or women. Either way, it can’t be many.”

“I don’t think that’s of any importance to you.” you spatter. You pull harder against the collar but it remains in its constricting position around your throat. “I think we have other things to worry about.”

“This was your idea. Your doing, pet,” he mocks.

You ignore the nickname. You ignore the way he lingers at the foot of the bed. Closing your eyes, you think of your own bed on Earth, seeking comfort in the reverie of home. “It was not my idea to pose as your sex slave,” you reply in a whisper.

“But your idea to seal the deal with a kiss.”

You can almost hear the arrogant smirk in the way he speaks, in the way he mocks you with every breath.

“Fine. Ask me whatever it is you want,” you groan in defeat. “But can you at least wait until the morning? I’d like to get some rest. I’ll be no use to you if I’m sleep deprived.”

“No use to me...” he repeats slowly. You turn away, determined to let sleep claim you. To let dreams of a better world sweep you away. Maybe then this whole night can be disregarded as just a bad dream. But then the bed shifts at your side and you know you are not alone. You are still on Sakaar, held at the mercy of a rouge God.

“Am I meant to use you?”

You open your eyes to find him resting beside you. His gaze is fixed upon you, green irises brilliant with brewing mischief.

“Isn’t that what this whole charade is about?” You dare to ask. “Using me for your own gain?”

“You used me tonight,” he states frankly.

“How did I use you?” You bolt up into a seated position, leaning back onto your palms. He shifts and before you know it, he is positioned over you, hovering even nearer still. One hand goes to the back of your skull, holding you steady while the other rests against your hand. His pinkie loops around your own; a delicate imprisonment.

“You wanted to be kissed,” he breathes across your parted lips. “You wanted to be wanted.”

“I _wanted_ you to know that I’m not some weak human you can manipulate,” you snap back. “That I can play this game as well as you can.”

“So it wasn’t from your own desire then.” More a statement than a question. His hand falls away and he leans back, taking in the sight of you: your legs parted, your chest held forward, heaving with each intake of air, and your skin flushed from your growing resentment.

“This has nothing to do with what I desire,” you hiss.

“It has everything to do with what you desire,” He says with a smirk. “Dont you desire to leave this place? Don’t you desire to return to Midgard?”

You turn away, knowing he has you backed into the corner.  

"Don't you... desire?" he asks; a statement so general you would have thought it useless to answer. That is until you see the look in his eyes. An unfathomable lust is held beneath his gaze, brimming at the seams, ready to consume you whole. 

“I would never desire _you_ ,” you hiss back in answer. 

His expression falters slightly, enough for you to see a sort of understanding beneath his gaze. But also mild disappoint, shifting into what can only be taken as the acceptance of a challenge. He shifts away, off the bed, and stalks toward his usual perch by the window, leaving you yet again alone on the bed.

“I look forward to the morning then,” he says as means of goodnight. Though, sleep would be hard to find. Not while your mind is so restless, coming back time and time again, despite your resistance, to the memory of his lips against yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank ToozManyKids for giving me the push I needed to get back into revisiting this tale. Definitely broke the spell of my uninspired slump! 
> 
> I do have a confession to make. While I often do envision our dear Tom Hiddleston in this role while I'm writing Loki, I do have an understudy. Meet Harry Lloyd, my friends. 
> 
>  


	3. Toxic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this chapter was not inspired by the Britney Spears song but hey, listen to it if it sparks your fancy. Not a bad song to pair with this piece.
> 
> Image Inspiration:  
> 

When morning comes, it takes you a moment to realize where you are. Your eyes flutter open and your vision refocuses slowly out of the haze of sleep and blissful dreaming. The light cast around you doesn’t seem quite right; an off hue from the norm. The blankets, now haphazardly tossed off your body, are of a material much finer than the cotton linens you’re used to. The linens on your own bed. In your own home. But this isn’t home.

Suddenly alarmed, you jerk upward and feel the head rush almost immediately. You still, taking in your surroundings in a seated position. The room is metallic. Artificial. A forgery of a world. This is Sakaar, you remember. This is your new prison. But your only shackles are a velvet choker, without an end or a beginning.

You stare out toward the window from which that strange light illuminates the room. While you expect to see Loki lounging beneath it, you find it empty. The entirety of the room is yours alone. You aren’t sure why, but that solitude leaves you desperate for his company. But why should you be? You are no more to him than a means to an end. A puzzle piece in the grand scheme of his escape plan. But dreams still linger at the edge of your mind, like blurred images of a world you’ll never know. A world where the feeling of his hand around your throat is no longer a threat, but a promise. Mindlessly you lift your fingertips to your lips. You can almost still taste his blood.

_Don’t you desire?_

You shake off the thought of those stubborn dreams and shift out of bed. At the edge, someone has placed a new garment for you to wear. It is a gown made of a shimmering emerald material. You hold it up the light, mesmerized by the way the colors shift and change with each movement of your hand. Eagerly, you strip off the flesh-tone dress and slip it’s replacement over your head. It fits you almost perfectly. While it’s predecessor stripped you of your modesty, this pays tribute to your features in a way that isn’t conceited. It is beautiful. 

In a rare moment of vanity, you take in your appearance in the reflection of the window pane. You let your eyes wander along with your hands, in a sweeping motion over the supple curves of your body. You lift your gaze to your shoulders, left uncovered by the garment. Your eyes lock onto another set behind you. 

“It suits you,” he says from the doorway, where he stands admiring you. But his eyes are void of feeling. You can not tell what he must be thinking: whether he is enjoying the view or imagining strangling you with the fabric. 

“Did you bring this for me?” You ask with a general gesture toward the gown.

He does not answer. Rather, he closes the door. Coming into the room, he sets down a glass on a small table. The table had once only been decorated by an empty vase. But this was not a world fit for flowers. Or young human women for that matter. 

“You should eat,” he says simply as he collapses heavily into a makeshift chair. He rests his arms on either side, drumming his fingers against the steel. He looks the perfect image of a disgruntled regent. 

You approach him cautiously and take the seat opposite at the table. 

“What is it?” You lift the glass and give it a sniff. It smells metallic and looks as black as swamp water. It can’t be natural. There are no trees to be seen outside your window; no vegetation, no life.

“Just drink it,” Loki orders in an exasperated sigh. Not wanting to insight his wrath so early in the day, you obey, downing the entirely of the glass in a single gulp. You fight the urge to gag as it slips down your throat. It seems to be clawing it’s way toward your stomach. The sludge coats your throat and tongue like a thin film of ground peppercorn. The taste lingers and you cough. You wipe the remnants off your lips with the back of your hand. The act repels Loki enough to make him scoff in your direction.

“Where did you get this?” You choke.

“The Grandmaster asked me to give it to you,” he answers with a glare toward your mouth. “He said he heard how frail humans could be and wanted to make sure you kept up your strength while in Sakaar.”

“How kind of him,” You snarl.

You set down the empty cup but watch in dismay as the residue begins to slither. Small creatures emerge from the murky slick and escape over the rim, crawling on needle thin appendages. Every slippery morsel had once been alive before you swallowed it down. You wince in horror. 

Loki’s eyes you, unamused. You would have to face far more gruesome novelties while on this planet; best to get used to it now. Besides, Loki seems to have adjusted, looking so drab and unaffected by the living drink. But there is something about his appearance that unsettles you. His usual cocky demeanor has faded, replaced by only mild interest. There are deep rings beneath his eyes; valleys of rich purple veins that contrast the otherwise gentle hue of his skin.

“Did you get enough sleep?” You ask, but quickly bite your tongue. You can’t risk saying anything else that may sound as damning as concern.

Loki looks away, past you toward the window. “So many questions this morning...”

Eyeing him carefully across the table, you opt for a different route. As much as you distaste the displaced God, he serves as a needed distraction from the harsh reality of your situation. Banter, no matter what form it takes, is better than hateful silence.

“I slept wonderfully,” you state with a coy smile. “In case you wanted to know.”

“Oh, I know you did,” he practically growls, looking up momentary to meet your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate. But he closes his eyes immediately and lets out a deep sigh. “Can you just... be silent for a few minutes?” He groans as he reaches up to hold his head.

_Shut up._

You try not to let his order offend you. This is Loki after all. The wind could blow in the wrong direction and it would set him off. So, you slide back in your seat and sit still, ready to embrace the awkward silence to follow. But after a few minutes, Loki’s eyes shoot back open. His gaze locks onto yours with a renewed intensity.

“You talk in your sleep,” he states, an edge to his voice. “Did you know that?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “No, I didn’t,” you answer honestly. “Is that why you couldn’tsleep? Did I keep you awake?”

You imagine him standing over you, his eyes ablaze with a fiery glare as you speak nonsensical phrases in your sleep. You smile at the thought. 

Loki’s hand falls away from his face. “So to speak. You had quite a bit to confess, it would seem.”

Fear grips you like a hook. “What did I say?” So it hadn’t all been nonsense after all.

This makes Loki smirk. Finally, an expression other than disinterest. “It wasn’t so much what you said so much as what you _moaned_.” 

“Moaned?” You gasp leaning forward against the table. Your face goes white as all blood drains from your skull. You grip tight to the edge of the furniture to hold yourself steady.

Loki laughs sharply. His eyes alight with humor, gradually coming back to life. “Oh yes, it was truly... distracting.”

Mortified, you slump forward until your forehead hits the hard surface of the table. “Spare me the details,” you plead into the metal grain. The cool surface is a blessing against your heated flesh. You cannot manage to cool down. A sheen of sweat has already begun to bead atop your arms. You blame embarrassment.

“What’s the fun in that?”

You peer up, cautiously. Loki has perked up, his lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“You said so many things. It’s hard to decide what I enjoyed the most.” He leans forward, placing his face mere inches away from your own. You feel his breath cloud in front of your lips. “Shall I just start at the beginning?”

You breathe in deeply to steady your heart. His aroma hits you like a wave. Being this close to him, you forget your fear, your anger. You inhale once more to take in that intoxicating scent. You are lost in the forest of his soul, of menthol and evergreen engulfing you in its cool embrace. You instantly surrender to the relief it provides your overly heated flesh. He smiles in reaction, as if savoring the way he has weakened you so simply. He lifts your chin with the tips of his fingers. Now, your eyes hold to his as he speaks. His touch is like the caress of winter and you sigh, thankful for anything to dull the fire set ablaze within your blood.

“You are quite the little minx, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Perhaps our time here won’t be as dull as I originally thought.”

“What exactly did I say?” Your mouth suddenly feels numb.

“You said, my pet, that you needed something,” he explains. Your gaze wanders toward his lips. They glisten, moist and wanting. “You said you needed _cock_.”

You jolt backward, shifting as far from his touch as you can manage without toppling over.

“I would not say that!” You defend. “You’re lying!”

He chuckles but doesn’t move from his spot, not yet. “Oh but you did,” he argues. “You were practically begging for it. Pleading. If I didn’t know any better, I would have believed those words were meant for me.”

“In your dreams,” you mutter. That’s when it hits you like a bolt of lightning to the brain. Dreams. Last night, the things you dreamt could not be spoken aloud. Though, apparently, they had been.

“When you first woke me, I saw you thrashing on the bed a bit,” he starts. “I thought you might be ill, so I approached you to make sure you weren’t dead.”

“How considerate,” you mutter. 

“That’s when I heard, truly heard, what you were saying and my... was I delighted.”

“You misheard me,” you argue. Stubbornly, you turn away to distract yourself with the view out the window. The city has come alive, embracing the early hours of the days with full enthusiasm. And even while the suns are both still rising toward their thrones in the sky, Sakaar’s day began long ago. Humanoids and creatures shift in and out of the crowds below. Many of them wear the rough scrap metal collars you had first been given. You reach up instinctively to caress the velvet of your new marker. You are thankful, at least, for Loki’s preference for subtly. Your finger smear down your neck over a sheen of sweat. Your heart is racing. _Why is it so hot?_

“But you spoke as clear as day,” Loki disagrees, drawing you back to the conversation. “As plainly as you are speaking to me now. There was no denying what you were requesting.” 

“I wasn’t requesting it from you.” It sounds like a lie as it leaves your lips. You hate how much you are drawn to him. As much as you despise him for the villainous persona he refuses to abandon, you cannot deny your physical attention toward him. A basic lust for him. Neither could your subconscious self.

“Fair enough,” he says no louder than a whisper. “Perhaps there is a lover on Midgard that would cause you to say something so lustrous. Are you that deprived?”

“There isn’t anyone.” Your cheeks feel flushed, burnt by deep embarrassment. You can almost hear the roar of the fire burning beneath your skin, charring your bones as kindling.

“No one?” He prods.

“No one.”

“But you have taken lovers, surely. Or else why would you speak like that?” He stands from the chair and struts toward you. At your side, he towers over you, his shadow cast over your form. You feel engulfed by it. You are suffocating. “Or were all your lovers so subpar that you’ve been left wanting for true pleasure?”

Again, you ignore him, focusing instead on the stifling heat crawling up your chest. You fan your face but it provides little relief. A trail of sweat runs down your cheek, dropping onto the dress. You stare down at the small spot, now a blemish on the gown.

“I wouldn’t know,” you mumble. It’s suddenly hard to form words. Your movements feel sluggish, as if your motor skills are turning to melted memory. 

“Wouldn’t know what, pet?” He leans down and there, heard in his wavering eyes, is a glimmer of what could be mistaken as concern.

“I haven’t...”

You catch sight of the slimy glass before you fall from the chair. The fire within you has consumed all control. You can hear and see but you are a prisoner within your own body. Your limbs go limp. You brace yourself, ready to hit the floor. However, you are caught in Loki’s embrace before you can do any real damage. He lifts you into his arms and holds you tight to his chest. You can feel his heart racing against your cheek before your neck lulls to the side. With your head positioned over his arm, you are able to peer around him. He turns around and you realize what he is doing. He is carrying you toward the bed. 

_The drink. He put something in my drink._

You want to scream, to pry yourself from his clutches. But you are helpless, locked within your subconscious. Trapped in the prison of his making. All you can do is watch.

He places you gently down upon the bed and with two hands gripped to the front of your dress, he tares the delicate fabric apart at the seams. The threads splinter and break as he shoves the torn material aside. The sound of it is muffled as though you were engulfed in a pool of your own melted flesh. Your eyes water, despite your inability to move. Your gaze holds forward, frozen. You are forced to watch in horror as Loki begins to slide the remnants of the once beautiful dress off your lifeless body. He is moving in a hurried, almost panicked manner, as if he can’t get to you fast enough. But once he does, once you a bare and naked before him, he too begins to peel off his own clothes. You try to turn away and close your eyes but you are locked to him.

“This is not my doing,” he whispers as he begins to unfasten his trousers. You unfocus your eyes as not to see what you are sure is about to happen. You will the world to silence. And so it does, at least for a moment, as everything goes to darkness. 

But then you hear him again. You feel him as he lies down on the bed with you. He pulls your back toward his chest and immediately the sensation of his skin against yours takes your breath away. You could swear you can hear the sizzle from the contact. He cradles you, your form fitting curved into his own. Like a Russian doll set one piece into the next. His embrace is cold, like ice meeting fire. And as his leg moves to wrap around you, you are completely encased by the unnatural chill of his body dosing the fire within you. Your cure from whatever poison had slithered undetected into your veins. As he positions his arms around your chest to hold you steady, you note how mindful he is not to touch you too intimately. How one arm is wrapped around your collarbone and shoulders, the other around your middle, leaving your breasts untouched. Sacred. But his lips linger at your neck, and he whispers your name over and over. You hadn’t even been aware that he’s known it before now. “Stay with me. Please... just stay with me.” 

As the sensation of his flesh soothes you, you manage somehow to blink once again. Your body slowly reanimates as the toxins lift from your skin in streams of sweat pooling out from every pore. You shift your gaze downward. His arms, tight and protective around you, are a strange hue of cobalt blue, etched with scars and grooves. This is not the Loki you’ve known until now. This is a being from another world, not a humanoid God. But even distracted as you are by his new skin, you notice the slight tremble of his arms around you. He does not let you go. He doesn’t so much as shift until you begin to readjust to the sensation of your own body. Only when you resist his hold and manage to turn to face him does he finally loosen his grip upon you. His skin has returned to its familiar, pale hue. But you lock your gaze upon his, mesmerized by their new haunting red glow. You open your mouth to speak but he is quicker to respond. 

“You stopped breathing,” he says softly. “And for moment, your heart even stopped.”

You breathe in deeply. “What did he give me?” You ask. The words are still slightly slurred as you fade back into the world of the living.

Loki blinks at you for a moment. He looks a bit confused.

“The Grandmaster,” You clarify. You swallow hard. The taste of that living drink still lingers on your tongue. “He poisoned the drink he sent back with you.”

“You... you don’t suspect it was my doing?” Loki’s eyes fade back into their rich emerald green, shimmering against the raising sun at your back. But before you can answer, his face contorts in pain and disgust. “I shouldn’t have been so blind,” he snarls as he turns away. “I should have suspected him of such treachery from the very beginning. I never saw him as much of a threat. I underestimated his desire to claim you.”

Now able to move your arms, you lift his chin, forcing him to look at you. “Why did you save me, Loki?” 

For a moment, he only stares at you. But finally when he speaks, his voice is rough. “You may think I am so heartless, mortal, but I do not wish for your death.” His eyes drift down to gaze upon your lips. They part for him and for a moment, you wish he would kiss you. That he would take away the painful memory of paralysis and replace it with something beautiful. Instead, he quickly shifts off the bed, reaching back for his clothes to redress himself.

“I will send for servants to fetch you another gown while I have a word with this so called _Grandmaster_ ,” he spits. He adjusts his coat, his neck stiff with tension. “Rest for now. We can’t be sure the poison has been fully cleansed from your body. I merely brought your body temperature back to normal. The effects could linger.”

“How ... how did you do that?” You struggle to seat up, every muscle aching.

“Do what?” 

“Your arms,” you explain. “Your skin. It was so cold. Like ice.”

“There are many things you do not know about me, pet,” he answers. “Best to keep some things unspoken.”

He heads for the door without even looking back to say goodbye.

“Loki, wait!” You call out after him. He stops with his hand held to the frame and turns to meet your gaze. “Thank you,” You finally say. It takes every ounce of humility to admit your gratitude. It was wrong to think he might have hurt you but in a world where lies reign supreme, it is hard to trust your own heart on the matter of his loyalty. You do not know who Loki really is. Especially now. But now, you believe you could trust that he would not hurt you. Not while you remained of use to him. 

He steps back into the room and slowly approaches the bed. He holds out his hand to you and reaches back to rest it against your bare neck. His touch is still so tender, a sweet release from the burning hellfire the poison had dragged you into.

“Was it true what you said?” He whispers. His fingertips caress the velvet at the back of your throat. 

You stare at him blankly, uncertain what he is asking of you. 

“Have you never taken a lover?” He clarifies.

You shake your head, unable to say it aloud.

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and as he speaks, his lips still linger against your skin. “Well then, I suppose I have my work cut out for me.”

He pulls away, leaving you looking baffled and wide-eyed after him as he once again steps through the doorway. 

“Darling, you may want to cover up,” he calls back. “The beasts of Sakaar may not be as chivalrous toward your virginity as I am.”

Only then do you remember your nakedness. Alarmed, you pull the sheets of the bed up over your chest to cover yourself. You can feel heat raise up into your cheeks once again. But the warmth that spreads across your skin is not the poison’s doing. It pools down, in-between your legs. Desire, this time, is truly to blame. Something you see reflected in Loki’s emerald eyes as he departs the room, leaving you once again alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Loki finally knows our protagonist is a virgin. Whatever shall he do about that....


	4. Lesson 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super Bowl Sunday and here I am, writing smut. I suppose that's a sort of touchdown, right?  
> Happy Sunday, lovelies. 
> 
>  Image Inspiration:  
> 

The moment he leaves, you vomit. The smell of it alone is enough to make you repeat the act a second time. But you are thankful for the release, to rid your body of the foreign toxic that once left you paralyzed. You lie in bed for hours until, true to his word, Loki sends a trio of servants to your dwellings.

They do not bother to knock. Instead, they burst into the room and immediately begin to make a fuss over the vile splattered across the floor. The smallest amongst them quickly makes work of cleaning the floor while the other two drag you out of bed. They pull you toward the small bath at the edge of room where they scrub your body with a perfumed soap. It smells of lilacs in soil.

You should feel slightly bashful, being naked in front of strangers. But after what you’ve endured with Loki, modesty would need to be abandoned. As they wash you, you ponder upon the tragic start of your day. Why had Loki sought out the Grandmaster to begin with? Was he sowing more seeds for your escape? But that the drink had clearly been part of another, however foiled, plan. A shiver runs up your spine to think what may have happened had Loki not acted so quickly. Had he not held you close and brought you back to life.

_Please... stay with me._

You rest your head against your folded knees, recalling the cool caress of his skin. Perhaps there is a mutual desire between you. But more than lust, it would be your mutual, strong will to live that would unite you in your journey back home.

Once you are fully bathed and your hair dried, one of the servants presents you with your new garment. It makes its predecessor look like simple loungewear. It is embroidered with a metallic form of lace that ornaments the brush of your shoulders. The emerald bodice is laced up the front, meant to push your blossom higher toward the heavens while the train is long and bellowing at your back. In a world like Sakaar, the ensemble looks as close to Asgardian as you might expect to find. 

“Did my master select this for me?” You ask one of the servants. You fumble over his title, having almost forgotten your slavers etiquette.

“Yes, miss,” they tell you. 

You shift on the sharp set of heels they've slipped onto your feet. Your legs rub together as you find your footing.

“Will I be given any undergarments to wear?” You ask with a startled blush.

They exchange a look between them. “Undergarments, miss?”

Judging by their baffled expressions, you decide there must be no need for bras and panties in Sakaar. Especially given their monetized sex culture where people are bought and traded like consumable goods. You fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. The threat of your own capture and consumption is still very real. But you will need to trust that Loki and his possessive nature will never allow for another man, woman or creature to seize you away from him.

You would also have to trust that the depths of the fabric around your waist would be enough for your needed privacy.

The girls work to sort the tangled ends of your hair. They manage to tame it and set the newly crafted curls back with a metallic pin. After dabbing scented oils on your collar bone, they deem you presentable.

“Your master is awaiting your arrival at tonight’s festivities,” one announces with a bowed head. They start toward the door, ready to lead you there. You follow after them and note how elaborate you look in comparison to them. Like a peacock amongst pigeons.

“Are you all not attending?” You ask naively.

Once again, they look back at you with equally confused expressions. “No, of course not, miss.”

There must be a caste system here. And sex slaves, apparently, rise to the top of the ranks. You qual the urge to question them further and walk in silence. The halls are alive with servants and free folk alike. You can distinguish those of higher stature by how they are dressed, in gowns and suits as lavish as your own attire. While the servants appear only in their shadows, whispers of existence. When finally, you reach your supposed destination, the servants leave you with a subtle bow and a nod toward the awaiting room.

“He is inside, miss,” one says meekly.

You bow your head in thanks and step into the dimly lit froyer ahead. The room extends as far back as you can see but retains an air of privacy thanks to its many small velvety enclaves. Each section is cast in a soft dewy glow from overhead, which shades the occupants in protective shadows. You scan the room, searching for the familiar gleam of two emerald eyes glistening in the darkness. But all you find are alien creatures entangled in each other amongst the rich maroons. You try to look away but you are drawn to each intimate scene. Of hands on hips, on the rocking motion of their bodies, of lips against skin. You swallow hard and continue onward, desperate to find Loki. And hoping to find him alone. You think of those twin creatures that had vied for his attention that first evening. You imagine them with him now, their hands caressing the length of his bare chest. Their sharp talons scrapping cobalt blue flesh, delicately tracing his scars. You blink away the image and turn your gaze back up onto the crowd.

Ahead, you catch a glint of gold and quickly turn the corner to conceal yourself. Peering around the pillar, you watch as the Grandmaster strolls through the gathering, greeting guests with a wide smile. There is an armed entourage at his back. He comes nearer to your hiding spot and the threat of discovery becomes too tangible. You take a step back but stumble into something. Or rather, someone. He leans down, his breath against your neck.

“Come with me,” Loki whispers behind you. His hands grip onto your shoulders. You turn to face him. You take quick note of his new leathers, embroidered with gems held in place by golden thread. The tunic is open slightly at his chest, revealing a pale patch of skin. Soft curls peek out from beneath the material. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it.

He leads you away from the Grandmaster’s path, back toward the edge of the room. You dare not turn around, fearful that you may be followed. As you move forward, you clutch tighter to his hand. He gives you back a reassuring squeeze. _I’ve got you_. When he finally stops, he pulls you into an empty enclave. You sit, side by side.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he turns to look at you. He pushes back the long ends of his coat. It fans out around him.

“Better,” you realize. “Though I am little hungry.”

“Here.” He holds out his hand to you. Atop his palm is a flower that appears like an open white rose, speckled with yellow pollen. It is rare sight in a world without flora.

“What is it?” Still fearful of any and all food offerings, you hesitate to take it.

“It’s Asgardian,” he explains. “A reinrose, known to stave off hunger. It will keep you satiated while we search for more suitable food sources for your Midgardian tastes.”

“My _Midgardian_ tastes merely include not being poisoned,” you growl. “And you always travel with one of these in your pocket?”

“I often find myself in very inhospitable lands,” he states frankly. His eyes darken. “I once had to go without any substantial sustenance for three months.” He pushes his hand forward as if to persuade you further. "It's only been a day for you."

“And I can trust that this isn’t toxic to humans?” You stare at him intently, urging him to plead his case.

“I wouldn’t have saved your life only to threaten it so soon after,” he replies. There is the hint of offense in his voice. “I do not wish to harm you.”

You stare into his eyes and despite your fear, you believe him. You pluck a petal from the flower and study it. It seems harmless enough, soft and velvety to the touch. You plop it onto your extended tongue and chew. The floral taste that floods your mouth is similar to jasmine. A tea of sorts. The hunger pains that once radiated through your abdomen subside almost immediately as you swallow it down.

“Better?” He prods.

“Much.” You licks your lips. He watches intently as he pockets the rest of the flower. “Did you manage to speak with...”

“The Grandmaster?” He finishes for you. “No, he is surprisingly hard to get ahold of.”

“But you met with him this morning.”

He meets your eye and for a second, it’s as if you’ve caught him in a lie. One of many. But you won’t get the truth from him tonight.

“He is here. We could always go speak with him,” you say instead.

“I want you to stay as far away from that man as possible,” he snaps. “His intentions toward you are...more deviant than my own.”

_And what exactly are your intentions, Loki?_

“Besides, I think there are some other things you and I need to discuss,” he says as a means of diversion. He leans nearer, his arm at your back. But no sooner do his eyes dart across the room. Something has distracted him. You turn to follow his gaze. The room is vibrating with heat, with quenched desires and fulfilled fantasies. In the enclave across from you, a female creature sits straddled in a man’s lap, writhing on top of him. His eyes meet yours and he immediately frowns. A mask of suspicion darkens his expression. He whispers to the woman who then turns and stares at you with an equal, blatant mistrust in her singular eye.

“We need to blend in,” Loki whispers harshly. His arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you closer to his side. “Perhaps now is as good a time as any to discuss your level of ... expertise.”

“Expertise,” you repeat. You tremble slightly against his hold.

“Sexual experience,” He clarifies. “As you can see, Sakaar has no qualms about the exchange of pleasure. If we are to avoid rising suspicion, we have to act as like-minded individuals, enjoying each other’s company. Especially you, my dear.”

“But we are visiting travelers,” you argue. “Can’t we play the role of ignorant guests? I doubt there is any harm in us not participating.”

As if on cue, you hear a scream from the other side of the room. You move together, peering around the bend of the enclave to see the cause of the commotion. Two guards are holding spears toward a pair of guests who hold up their hands in defense. They begin to retreat until their backs make contact with the wall.

“Please, we don’t mean any harm,” one says. They look almost human, save for the horns that wrap around their skulls.

“We do not ... conduct this type of behavior,” the other adds. It is near impossible to distinguish their genders. They appear androgynous. Neither male nor female.

“Participate or die,” the guard says bluntly. He jabs his spear forward but does touch them with it. Not yet. The ends sizzles with electric discharge as an added threat.

“Please! We can not!”

“What is this commotion?” The Grandmaster appears from within the gathered horde of nosey guests. His hands are folded atop his chest as he contemplates the scene before him. “Are we not enjoying the party?”

“These two refuse to perform,” one of the guards reports.

“Surely that isn’t the case,” The Grandmaster says sadly. “Tell me, friends, why aren’t you having fun?”

“We cannot... we are unable to...” The being shakes so hard that words become difficult to confess. "Our species lacks what is required for these acts."

“I see...” The Grandmaster bows his head. “Well then, goodbye.”

As if by an unspoken command, the guards push their spears into the two guests. The weapons spark each of them with an electrical shock until they collapse onto the floor, foaming at the mouth. They twitch and scream until finally, go as still as death.

“Why did they do that?” You ask in horror.

“Not so hard, pet,” Loki whispers back. You turn to look at him only to realize you’d been clutching onto his arm. You loosen your grip. “It would seem they were punished," Loki goes onto explain. "Care to make a guess as to the reason why?”

You stare at their lifeless forms now being carried away by the disgruntled guards. Their feet drag on the floor behind them. Almost immediately, the other guests resume their positions of depravity, their eyes held to the Grandmaster for approval. He nods and smiles as he walks pasts. He even gives small applause and cheers on their performances, as heinous as they may seem.

“They didn’t participate,” you manage to admit. You step back, falling into the plush cushions of your chosen dwelling. “Maybe we are mistaken. Maybe they did something wrong. Something truly punishable by death.”

“Chastity is punishable by death here.” Loki slides back in beside you. He is impossibly close. Your heart is racing. So many possibilities linger in that small space between you. “There are far less favorable means of survival. I consider us rather lucky.”

“Sure. Lucky.” You lean your head back against the rounded backing of the enclave and close your eyes. You are nervous, unsure. You hate how your inexperience makes this endeavor that much more challenging. Perhaps if you put less emphasis on the value of sex, you wouldn’t find yourself so paralyzed by self-doubt. You’d be able to indulge in this strange land and savor of its erotic offerings. You'd be able to hold this act and manage escape rather quickly. However, you still hold onto the glimmer of hope that sex can also mean love. A love you’ve yet to find even amongst the endless offerings on Earth.

“Pet,” Loki whispers and you feel his hand wrap around the back of your neck. When you open your eyes, you find him leaning over you. His other hand is pinned beside your head. “Do you trust me?” He asks softly. His fingers push up the nape of your neck, messaging your scalp. You sigh as his movements effortlessly relax you. But once again you answer him honestly. “No.”

“Well, perhaps you can trust my desire to survive this world. For us both to survive it,” he replies before pulling you forward to meet his embrace. You let out a small gasp as your lips meet his. His hand scoops under your chin as he moves his mouth against yours. But after only a few moments, he pulls back. 

“Open your mouth more to me,” he instructs. And with a small smile, he adds, “This is suppose to be enjoyable. Loosen your jaw.”

You slack your mouth open a bit but immediately feel stupid for it. You shake your head. “I can’t do this,” you mumble.

“Yes, you can,” he reassures. “But you need practice if this is going to look at all convincing the next time we are being watched.” He gestures back toward the once suspicious couple, now gone. They must have moved on to another area. At least their absence gives you a fragile sense of privacy.

“Shall we try again?” Loki asks as he continues to massage your scalp. "We need this to be believable. We need to act the part."

You nod softly and swallow hard to push down your nerves.

“You can tell me to stop at anytime,” he says softly. So you open your mouth slightly for him. But your shoulders are tense. Your hands tremble. Seeing this, Loki leans down and rests his lips against your shoulder. You sigh as he leaves a trail up your neck, sucking softly upon your skin.

“Perhaps this will relax you,” he whispers before continuing his path of destruction upward. You tilt your head back further to give him better access. His caress is gentle, unassuming at first. But when he desires more of you, he bites into your flesh. You whimper and grip onto the leathers at his chest, pulling him closer. With your other hand, you reach up to thread your fingers through his long raven hair. He moves his lips to your jawline then. He leaves small pecks along the delicate bone until his mouth once again finds yours.

“Are you ready to learn now, little one?” He whispers against your parted lips. You barely have time to nod before he lunges at you. You clutch onto him desperately as you slides your mouth in sync with his movements. You relax your jaw the way he’s instructed. But when his tongue slithers in past your teeth, you tense once more. You are unsure what to do at first, how to move, whether you should let him take the lead or if you should take more initiative. You aren’t given much time to ponder your role before Loki pulls away. You stare after him, mouth gaping and your breathing heavy and labored. 

“It’s a dance,” he exhales in a husky voice. “Move with me. Move for me. Let me lead you and I promise where you follow, there will be nothing but pleasure.”

His lips meet yours once more but this time, you are the one to push your tongue forward. His hand slides to your waist and tightens in response. He moans into you as you lick tentatively at his mouth. He swirls his tongue around your own, sliding back and forth. You pull him closer so your bodies press tight together as you drink of each other’s mouths.

“A little slower,” he manages to say against your lips. You obey, pacing yourself. You slow the movement of your tongue, following his movements. Following his dance, the sway of his desires.

”That’s it,” he praises. “Oh yes, so much better.” He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head steady.

When finally, you part, it’s only to catch your breath. His hands move up and down your bare arms, leaving shivers in their wake. You hold your eyes to his chest which rises and falls in a desperate attempt to calm his own breathing. You mindlessly play with the tuff of hair peeking through his leathers. He laughs, clearly amused, and peels your hand away.

“You are a fast learner,” he compliments. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your fingertips tenderly. “How is it you’ve avoided being claimed by a lover?”

“There hasn’t been anyone I felt was... deserving of it,” you admit with a blush rising up over your cheeks.

“It,” he laughs. “Your virginity, you mean?”

“My affection,” you correct.

“Am I deserving?” He asks as a sweet kiss against your open palm.

“I’m not sure this is about what you deserve.” Your try to maneuver out of his hold, deeming your lesson effectively complete. “Isn’t this merely about survival?”

Over Loki’s shoulder, you see the Grandmaster come into view, making rounds to greet the rest of his guests. Your eyes go wide and you push against Loki’s shoulders, muttering incoherent warnings about the ruler’s approach. But Instead of shifting to the offense, Loki switches places with you. He lies beneath you now against the cushions and pulls you down into him. You fumble against his hold but your legs land on either side of him. You straddle his lap. He struggles with the mass of your gown, muttering under his mouth. You assist in his struggles by grabbing the extent of it and gathering it around your middle. Now there is nothing between you but the sheen of his leather trousers. He pulls you forward with his hand to the small of your back. He pushes you up against him and his concealed hardened length. You gasp when you feel him against your bare sex. But he can’t possibly know. He can’t see the truth concealed beneath the bellowing emerald material. He can’t know how wet you are. 

“Loki, what are you...”

He leans up to silence you by sucking hard on your neck. This time, he does so just below the collar. You cry out and dig your nails into his shoulders. His teeth sink into you. He moves slightly to nibble and pull against your tender flesh. The delivered result is pain mingled and mated with a brand of pleasure you’ve never known.

“You are mine. Do you understand?” He growls. His eyes are held over your shoulders, behind you. His lips are still pressed into your skin. You know he must be staring off toward someone else. Someone you can only assume is the Grandmaster. His glare is territorial. But still, you try to turn around to confirm your suspicions, only for Loki to suck harder. You cry out for him and arch toward his touch.

“I want to hear you say it.” His hands go to your hips, pulling you forward once again. You slide across his leathered length. Your sex is dripping with want, coating his trousers. He can’t know. He shouldn’t know how he’s weakened you.

“Please, Loki,” you plead. But he bites harder and you surrender to his desires, pushing yourself right down against him. “Fuck...” You bite your lip to stifle the moans that want release. But he continues to encourage your damnation. He helps you move, pushing and pulling on your hips. The leather rubs up perfectly against where you need him to, sending shockwaves of pleasure right through your body.

“Say it,” he snarls through gritted teeth. “Say it!”

“I’m yours!” You cry out as your core throbs. Waves of meager release relinquish you of all control. You slump forward against his chest, fragile and weak. Your breathing is heavy, your heart heavier. He strokes your back, but his movements seem unsure.

“Did he see?” You whisper, slowly coming down off your high. You pray he thinks you were acting, putting on a show. You pray he doesn’t know the truth: that the mere caress of him, the hint of his sex against you had just sent you reeling toward release.

“He saw,” he answers against your neck. He reaches up and holds you steady with his hand to your neck. “I think that was enough for one evening. You did well.”

He pulls you off his lap. You fumble to keep the skirt in place and your shame concealed. But his eyes immediately drift down to the shimmer spread across his lap. The wet smear left behind from your pleasure. He licks his lips and lets his eyes slowly lift back up to meet yours.

“Pet...”

But before he can say anything more, you stand. Taking his hand, you pull him from the enclave, push through the thongs of guests and exit out into the forged palace. He hardly resists along the way. He follows close behind you, never once letting go of your hand. But the halls become a maze. You cannot remember where to turn, what doors to enter and which to avoid. And your legs are trembling terribly, making it hard to focus. Loki must take notice. He pulls in front of you and weaves your fingers together.

“This way,” he says with the nod of his head and the hint of mischief in his eye. You walk side by side, hand in hand. To any passerby, you might appear as lovers. But the truth is so much more complicated. So much is shrouded in an act, in a forgery of affection. But is that all this is? You’d felt it there on his lap; the need to surrender to you base desires. But could this be more than a mere physical response?

He finds your chambers quickly and opens the door for you both. The suns have set. The sky is dark and speckled by only a few twinkling stars outside the window, and a bright, brilliant moon, double the size of your own. How quickly the day has faded into night. How quickly you’ve surrendered to depravity of this place. And now, alone in your room with Loki, you are unsure how long this charade needs to last. Does it end as soon as the door closes? Does it only resume when you reenter the eye of society? Or will the pretense remain, even while no one is around to bear witness?

You fold your arms across your chest as you cross the room. You step into the soft glow of moonlight and reach up caress your neck. You tentatively press your fingers to Loki’s mark, now a hot bruise upon your flesh. You can feel his presence. He is lingering in the midst of the room behind you.

“You should get some sleep,” you say. “Take the bed. I owe you that much.”

You hear his footsteps as he approaches. His hands settle down onto your shoulders.

“I could,” he replies. His fingers trail up over your neck, tracing a circle around where his teeth had once been. “But I may need to get out of these clothes,” he adds in a low growl. “It seems I’ve spoiled them.”

You spin around to face him, only to find him smirking down at you with blatant delight.

“Is there something you want to tell me, pet?”


	5. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to Bloodstream by Transviolet

Loki begins to unbuckle his leather trousers, slowly, so that you can study every movement. His eyes hold steady upon you. The unnatural green of them shimmers against the moonlight at your back. With the fabric now loosened, the belt hanging limp about his waist, he drags a finger down the front of the leather. There, clinging to the fabric, he gathers a smear of evidence upon his fingertip. He lifts it to the soft light where the gentle sheen of wetness shimmers amongst the stars. Then, to your utter mortification, he brings his finger up to his lips and sucks it clean. He lets out a satisfied sigh as he pulls the digit free and turns his gaze upon. His eyes are darkened by an unmistakable lust. Like a starved beast newly unchained. 

“Delightful,” he says softly. “Sweet as honey, but with the bitter salt of Midgard. I’d expect no less from a mortal’s cunt.”

Your mouth slacks open, your cheeks burn with the raw heat of your embarrassment. How could you ever hope to explain yourself? Especially now, as the God of Mischief stands nearly naked before you. You were reckless to believe that what transpired between you had been anything more than primal desires. This, the game you are playing, is driven only by madness.

You back up toward the window as he slides the leather shirt up over his head. It lands on the floor, discarded. But those damned trousers remain as a reminder of your sinful act, barely hanging on at his hips. Your eyes trace down the soft line of dark curls nestled below his navel. Where his muscles dip in just the right way to lead your gaze toward the outline of his desire. Of hardened animal lust pressing forward for attention.

“Did you lie to me?” He asks. He takes a step forward to pierce through the protective space you’ve created.

“About what?” You dare ask, no louder than a whisper. You turn your gaze back up to meet his eye.

“Don’t act all coy now,” he growls. “Not after what we did.”

“We didn’t do anything,” you argue. You’re shaking now. Your eyes are wet, and you are certain you’ve lost all strength in your legs. You can barely stand upright. You cling to the window frame for support. “We were putting on a show. Just like you wanted.”

“A show...” he laughs before slamming his palm against the glass. You gasp in alarm. “Was that just a show, pet?”

You look at him. At his eyes aflame with anger, fear. Wanting.

“A modest little virgin maiden.” He presses his other palm down, trapping you beneath him. “So naive to the ways of sex and pleasure. And yet here.” He pauses to take your hand and shoves it against the front of the unfastened trousers. You gasp as your hand smears against your leftover arousal, and the stiffness of his own beneath the grip of your palm. His girth. His need. “Here is the evidence of your deceit.”

“I didn’t lie,” you argue as you snatch your hand away. You cradle it to your chest as if burnt by the promise of his sex. “I’ve been more honest with you than you deserve. I did everything you asked!”

He tilts his head toward you and parts his lips. His breath is a hot cascade across your mouth. “I didn’t ask you to cum,” he whispers harshly.

“I... I didn’t.” Your lips tremble. He’s made a liar of you.

“Do you take me for a fool?” He snaps. His finger loops under the velvet strand of the collar. He pulls you closer with it, so that he can kiss the corner of your mouth. You try to turn away, to not be lured in by the seduction of his caress. But you are already caught in his webbing. Your core throbs as a bitter reminder. So you give in and turn toward him, letting the fullness of his mouth overtake you. You are distracted. Weak to your own sexuality. And he revels in his victory. 

“I heard the way you moaned,” he whispers, his lips trailing to your neck. To your branding. “I felt the way your body trembled.” He licks the wound. 

You let out a sigh just before he takes the sigil between his fingertips and presses the jagged edge into your jugular. You hiss in pain and push against his shoulder in protest.

“Tell me, pet...How is it that a sweet little virgin could so easily surrender herself atop my lap?” He trusts into you for emphasis. You whimper and try to shove against him once more but he grabs and pins your wrists above your head. He leans down until his lips are just a breath away from your own. “Do you often touch yourself? Is that it?”

“I...” Once. You’d done it only once. Writhing atop your pillow in the middle of the night. The release had been meager, nothing compared to what he’d given you with just a little friction.

“I haven’t,” you lie. 

He growls, deep in his throat, and forcefully pulls up the material of your gown. His hand trailing upward to the broad, bare path of skin leading toward divinity. You squirm underneath his hold, tossing side to side to try for leverage. But he is stronger. Much stronger. 

“And no panties at that. Are you trying to seduce me?” There is a hint of laughter in his eye and in the music of his voice.

“Sex slaves don’t have the luxury,” you mutter under your breath. You turn your head away, refusing to look at him any longer. 

“Is that so?” His touch moves higher, a whisper against your inner thigh. “Or are you lying to me still?”

The moment you feel the brush of his fingertips against the warm of your sex you find your strength, your voice once muffled by your own selfish need to be wanted.

“Stop it, Loki!”

As if propelled by an unseen force, Loki’s body is thrust back, half-way across the room. The strength of your refusal given physical form. He flies and falls, landing on his back with a loud thud. His legs splay open and for a moment, he doesn’t move. You take a step forward but to your relief, and your dismay, he twitches. He arches against the floor and lets out a grunt of pain. His hand goes to his chest where the phantom force struck him. The sound of his displeasure gradually fades into forced laughter. His eyes are hallow, almost sad as he takes in the sight of you, standing still within the midnight glow.Your eyes are wide, your breath quick.

“So it does work then,” he says with a tilted smile. He sits up and lets his arm rest over bended knee. “I was beginning to wonder...”

“What was that?” Your hand is at your chest, pressed to the beating of your heart. A war drum signaling victory.

“That was you,” he replies. “So to speak.” He struggles to stand, but when he does, he stretches with a hand to his lower back. It’s an act, you tell yourself. He is a God. A fall like that wouldn’t hurt him. It couldn’t have. He just wants you to believe it did. He wants you to think he is a wounded forest creature in need of coddling.

He walks toward you but as soon as he gets close enough to touch, you throw up a hand in defense. You believe, against all logic, that you might have it in you to repeat the unnatural act that once disarmed him. “Don’t come any closer!”

He shoves his hand through his hair, exasperated and sighs. “It doesn’t work that way, pet.”

“Then how does it work?” You hiss in annoyance. You’ve beenviolated both physically and mentally. But immediately your hand goes to your throat where the sigil is warm against your flesh, radiating with power. An after effect.

“Stop and no,” he says as he sulks back around toward the bed. He falls down heavy upon it and works to refasten his trousers. His eyes hold to the floor. “Those are the commands it responds to.”

 _You_ _can_ _tell_ _me_ _to_ _stop_ _at_ _anytime_.

“You... did this for me?” You slowly release the pendant and let your hand fall to your side.

“I enchanted my sigil with the intention of keeping the scum of this world from hurting you,” he explains. He hangs his head low, hands woven together between his legs. “Particularly the Grandmaster. After we were introduced, I decided more needed to be done...But we see how well that plan turned out. He has already found other ways around my simple protection spell.”

The drink. The poison. But had he known of Loki’s enchantment or had it only been a leap in the dark?

You stand still for a moment. You hold your finger to that golden emblem. A symbol of your faux servitude. The reminder that you are so very lost, so far from home. And now, somehow, it is also a mark of control. 

Your control over _him_.

“You keep surprising me,” you tell him. You laugh sharply until your face contorts into a cruel, vindictive smile. “One minute you are assaulting me. The next, you are protecting me.”

“Assaulting you?” he perks up from his slouched position. 

“What else do you call shoving your hand up my skirt?” 

“We were... this was...” he huffs in frustration. “That’s besides the point.”

“Is it? I think the point is you were trying to take advantage of me.”

“It would have been mutually beneficial.”

“Mutually beneficial? God, do you even hear yourself?” You charge toward the bed. Your whole body is once again set on fire, but this time by a rage ready to consume. You stand in front of him with enough distance to run if necessary. He glances up at you, his head tilted to the side. He doesn’t speak. 

“Answer me,” you snap.

“Tell me you don’t enjoy my affections,” he challenges. His eyes alit with stirring mischief. “Tell me I’m not the reason you came.” 

You open your mouth to respond but immediately snap it shut, afraid of what you might admit to. What truths your heart may sing. You turn your back to him.

“What do you want from me, Loki?” You whisper to the wall. “To protect me? To use me? Which is it?”

“Both.”

You turn, slowly. He is standing now and, while half dressed, he is naked. Shed of all pretenses. His energy is different. It’s almost... human. There isn’t darkness in his eyes like before, but a need to be heard. To be touched. To be understood.

“I want both,” he says again. He takes another step forward, away from the bed. “I need both.”

There is still space between you, but not enough that he wouldn’t be able to grab you again if he tried.

“I want to hurt you,” he tells you. A confession that should send you reeling , but he follows it with, “And give you the pleasure of pain. The pleasure of surrender.” 

He reaches forward, as if to touch you. Your cheek. Your hair. But his hand falls before he can make contact. He clenches his eyes shut. His lips press together.

“Take the bed,” he says in a whisper as he pushes past you to once again sleep under the blanket of moonlight.

“That’s it? We’re done talking about this?” 

He doesn’t even turn to look at you before he slumps to the bottom of window. “Yes,” he says.

“You really are a monster,” you whisper as your vision blurs. Hatred and confusion cloud your eyes in a sheen of tears that refuse to fall. And as cruel as your words may be, he doesn’t reply. He only closes his eyes.

 _Goodnight_.

Shaken, you trip your way toward the bed, tossing off the useless heels and letting the train of the gown overwhelm you. You fall forward onto the bed, clutching fistfuls of the blankets. You want to scream, to run, to abandon the madness of this man and the see-saw of his reasonings. Was he your threat? Or your savior? 

 _Both_. _I_ _need_ _both_.

You can’t sleep. Not now. Not after everything he’s done. After everything you’re sure he is thinking of doing to you yet. You crawl off the bed and with your footsteps as light as feathers, make your way to the door. 

“A monster I may be...” Loki begins sleepily from behind you. “But I am more man than the slavers of Sakaar.”

“Are you?” Your hand goes to the doorknob. “From what I’ve seen, it’s hard to say who you really are.”

You turn and push the door open. Once you step through the doorway, you hear his very faint response.

“No,” he says. “Stop.” 

At first, you think he is making a mockery of you, sarcastically pleading for you to stay. But as soon as you close the door, you realize what he’d been trying to stay.

Stop and no. The command words. He was reminding you in the case that, if needed to, you could defend yourself.

Barefooted, you step out into the night. It is quiet in the hallway outside your chambers. There isn’t another soul in sight, at least not yet. As you tiptoe along, you take your time to mark the number of doors leading to your own, so that you can remember how to safely return. When you reach the bend, you turn right, to venture further into the decoupage palace.And immediately, you wish you’d never left your room.

“I spent twelve thousand units on fuel to get here,” a man says. Though he is hardly a man. More a reptile judging by the scaling of his skin, and the diamond shape of his pupils. He takes a sip from the bottle in his taloned fist. “I will have a taste of these Sakaarian delights you love so much. But they better be worth the detour away from Iron Lotus.”

Fuel. A ship. They have a ship. Maybe there could be an alternate to whatever plan Loki had in mind for you. You take a step forward out of the shadows and work up a means to interrupt their conversation. 

“I’m telling you the trip is worth it.” The other man snatches the amber bottle from his colleague and chugs back the remnants, which dribble down his exaggerated snout. “And I’ll pay you back the units if you don’t find a warm bed suitable enough for your liking.” 

They are here to find pleasure slaves. No ship is worth trading your dignity for. You take a step back, away from them and any hope of escape they may offer.

His companion laughs and snatches back the bottle, only to throw it hard against the wall. He cheers in delight as it shatters into a million tiny shards of golden glass. But your response is not quite so jubilant. You yelp in surprise, making yourself known to them. They both turn to look at you. Their eyes immediately drop to your neck.

“Hey there, pretty thing,” the reptilian man calls out in greeting. “What are you doing out here all alone at night?”

You try to retreat back to your chambers but your gown catches underneath you. You cuss under your breath and grab the wall, just as the snouted man slithers to your side. Literally. He moves on a long tentacle, but stands erect like a serpent about to strike.

“Where are you going?” His voice comes out a hiss. His long tongue slithers out as he attempts to get a taste of your skin. You jerk back. “There’s no need to leave.”

“Where’s you master?” His friend asks as he approaches. “Or are you free to share?”

“I’m no one’s to share.” You push away from the alien men. But you are caught by the arm and pulled back into their clutches. 

“We only want a taste,” he reassures. He reaches out and plays with the strings of your bodice, pulling them loose. “I’m sure your master won’t mind.”

You twist your body but he digs his talons into your arm, drawing blood. It drips and stains the emerald silk. You cry out but not from the pain, but from the realization of your own stupidity. _If_ _I_ _hadn’t_ _left_. _If_ _I_ _hadn’t_ _come_ _this_ _way_. Your bodice loosens enough that he can reach out and pull the fabric away. It leaves your breasts completely exposed to him. You try to say something, anything but you are mute, frozen in fear. 

“My, well that’s interesting,” he notes with the lick of his thin lips. “Two breasts. What a novelty.”

“One for each of us,” his friend laughs, snorting through his fluted mouth. He reaches out for you and you open your mouth.

Stop. No.

But before the commands can even leave your lips, the two alien men are sent spiraling down the hall, tossed like thevermin they are. The moment they hit the floor, you watch their eyes roll into the back of their slimy skulls. Shaken, your hand goes to the sigil once again but you find it cold and void of the spark you’d witnessed with Loki.

Your slide a shaky hand down the front of the opened bodice, clutching at the separated halves. You shouldn’t be surprised to find Loki standing behind you but the sight of him still makes your heart tremor. His hands are in fists, his chest still bare. So, it had been by his command that the attack was delivered.

“Did you kill them?” You ask, afraid of the answer.

“I’d surely hope not.” He steps forward, out of the shadows. “But I won’t be disappointed if I have.”

He wants to protect you. He admitted to it. But in the same breath he said that he would use you. That he’d hurt you. _What_ _kind_ _of_ _pleasure_ _could_ _you_ _promise_ _me_ , _Loki_ , _if_ it _means_ _hurting_ _me_ _to_ _achieve_ _it?_ But he wouldn’t just hurt you. He’d kill to get what he wants.

“I told you the words,” he growls. 

“I remember them.” You fumble with the ties at your breasts to secure the bodice. Your handiwork is nothing compared to that if your servants. And peering down, the dark stain smeared across the gown feels like your own Scarlett letter.

“Then why didn’t you use them?” His eyebrows are folded forward in frustration. Anger and lust. _Is_ _that_ _all_ _we_ _have_ _in_ _common_?

“I would have,” you grunt. You stare at the floor as you move past him, back toward your chambers. But he catches your arm, the one left unscathed. His touch is firm, but gentle. 

He doesn’t deserve your gratitude, you tell yourself. He hasn’t given you anything but bad dreams. So you say instead, “I didn’t need you to save me.” You try not to wince, hating how bitter you sound. How cruel. He has made a monster of you too.

“No. No, you didn’t.” He smiles slightly and lets his touch fall away from your forearm. His smile is gone by the time his eyes drift to your other arm. Your skin is now marred by the path of the reptilian’s claws in four red streaks. He traces a cool finger across each. His touch soothes the throbbing pain and you watch, in pure wonder, as the wounds fade into only faint scars. He has healed you, saved you, yet again. You are in his debt. Always in his debt. But still, you refuse to say “thank you”. You step away and turn your back to him as you walk back to your chambers. You feel cold and empty.

When you are sure he is following behind you, you ask, “Why did you come after me?” He is silent for a moment too long, so you go on. “Did you know I’d find trouble?”

He chuckles softly behind you. “Where you go, trouble isn’t far behind.”

You turn your head slightly. He walks in your peripherals, a hazy version of himself.

“I wanted to...” he pauses and you can barely make out how he runs his hand down the plane of his face. He quickens his pace and moves forward to stand beside you. “I want to be clear about my intentions.”

You blink at him. “I thought you made them very clear.”

He shakes his head. “I want you,” he states. “Physically. And I think you want me too. But you’re scared, aren’t you?”

You remember his kiss, how much more you’d wanted from him as you took in the taste of his mouth. His hands on your hips, his lips on your throat. It had awoken a desire within you. Yes, this is only physical. To be touched. To be wanted. And he wants you. God and man, demon and savior. He wants you just as badly. You try to speak but he raises his hand to silence you.

“There isn’t any harm in taking from each other what we need,” he says. “Mutually beneficial.” His smile fades and with a more serious expression, he lets his finger falls against his golden sigil at your throat. He taps it for emphasis. “But remember this. You will always have control. You hold the reigns.”

“Why would you give me that sort of power?” 

His touch falls to your collarbone, and for a brief moment, you surrender to the possibilities before he lifts his hand away.

“Because I want to see what you might do with it.” His eyes glisten as he smirks down at you. You could swear they shimmer with the remnants of their former ruby hue. You approach your door, the eighth down the line. And as you reach for the handle, Loki brings his hand down over yours. “Would you agree to it?” He asks.

He doesn’t need to say it. It would be a sexual arrangement, stretching the pretense of your cover as master and slave. Your charade would be twisted by reality, by your mutual desires to fill the void of loneliness. You swallow hard, weighing the consequences. But hanging at your throat was your loophole. If ever you wanted to end it, you knew the words.

“I need to... sleep on it,” you manage to say, opening the door against his hold. He lets you step inside, falling in after you. You once again collapse onto the bed. Your eyelids are heavy, your heart a burden. After staring at the metallic ceiling for far too long, you turn on your side, restless. You know sleep will not come unless you give him some consolation. And yourself some resolution.

“Loki,” You call out. He is at his perch, gazing out the window. Wide awake. Clearly, he is having trouble sleeping too. He turns to look at you, his eyes soft.

“I lied to you,” you admit. You chew on the inside of your mouth nervously. “I...”

“You...” he prompts as he straightens to address you with more interest. “Go on.” 

You can’t bring yourself to say the words, “You made me cum”. So you settle on something simpler. “It felt good,” you say. You hope he can infer enough from that. But you aren’t so lucky. 

“What did, pet?” He asks. “I’m going to need you to be very specific.”

You swallow hard. “When you held me. When you kissed me. I liked it.” You have control, he said. But clearly he held the reigns of your heart.

His eyes widen ever so slightly as he takes in your confession. His lips curve into a devilish smirk. 

“Would you like me to kiss you again?” He asks. He licks his lips, ready for your response before you can even speak.

But instead you mutter a simple, “Goodnight” and turn away from him. Your face is warm. Every fiber in your body is acutely aware of his presence in the room, the prospect of his caress. It would be so easy to give in and fulfill that desire. To feel that release once more. And even while you think he may attempt his act of seduction once again, he doesn’t move. He surrenders to your dismissal with soft laughter.

”Goodnight. Try not to wake me this time,” he says to your back. “And if you do, I will gladly give you much more than those dreams ever could. You need only say the word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, as you can tell, we have diverged from the Trusting a God cannon. I really wanted the choker to mean something. Since this story has involved exploring the concepts of BDSM with their relationship, control needed to be key. But what was most important was that the reader, the submissive, understood she was the one with the real power. She had the control.


	6. Swimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, lovelies. I hope this chapter finds you well. As we get closer and closer to End Game and the Loki series, I’ve been wanting to dive back into these stories with him. Hope this is enough to appease your appetite for now!

“I feel like talking a walk.”

He is rather, annoyingly, chipper this morning. When you first awake, you find him pacing around the room, his hands on his hips. He looks well-rested and well groomed. His hair is sleek back, a complement to the sharp angles of his cheekbones. You wonder if perhaps, this time, you managed to keep quiet in your sleep. 

You wipe the trail of drool from your cheek and comb through the tangled bits of your hair with your fingers. You slept in the gown which is now wrinkled beyond repair. But there doesn’t appear to be any other options. Save for the nude.

“A walk?” You yawn.

“Care to join me?”

He gives you a too wide smile as he stops his pacing by the edge of the bed. He stares down at you with the glint of something hidden in the corner of his eye.

Mischief. He has some sort of plan in mind. An agenda beyond the purpose of a simple “walk.” But wherever he goes, you must be sure to follow. You don’t want to be alone. You can’t be alone. Not after your encounter last night. But being alone with Loki could prove just as formidable. 

“Do I have a choice?” You ask but reaching out for his offered hand and stepping off the bed, you know all free will has been left back on Earth. “Well, I suppose I don’t.”

“You always have a choice.” He squeezes your hand slightly. “But you’ve made the right one.”

“Have I?” His eyes widen slightly. “I’m still waiting for you to prove yourself, Liar God.”

He smirks. He seems impressed. “Patience, pet.” 

You slip on the same pair of heels from last night and hook your arm through Loki’s. It’s to resume the act, you tell yourself. An act. That’s all this ever was or would be. You force down the remnants of another dream. Another vision into the realm of possibility.

“I want to study this place more,” he explains as you walk toward the door. “Understand our surroundings. Perhaps there are loopholes in its inescapability.”

“Loopholes?”

“In Asgard, the bifrost isn’t the only means of teleportation. There are many hidden portals to other worlds. None of which many people know about. But I do, because I refuse to accept anything at face value.”

“Does that include people?” You ask but quickly bit your lip.

He laughs. “It includes everything.”

You round the corner, emerging through a thong of brightly colored socialites outside. They eye you briefly, taking in your disheveled appearance with distasteful glares. You lean into Loki, wanting to hide within his shadow. But he takes your movement for permission and slides his hand around your waist. Though the fabric of the dress separates you from his touch, your skin prickles. You swallow hard and force the conversation back onto strategy.

“Do you really think there are similar portals on Sakaar?” You ask as you step slightly out of his hold. His hand moves but settles protectively on the small of your back as he leads you on. You push through the crowds, through market and merchant. You remember how you came to this place, thrown from the Bifrost and hurled into space. Could a portal really exist in a place at the end of the universe? Where only the discarded outcasts remain. You look up at Loki.

 _How_ _did_ _I_ _get_ _here_ _with_ _you_?

“There’s always a possibility,” he answers. His gaze is held forward. “I’ve heard whispers of a grotto on this planet. It’s a good place to start.”

You walk in step with Loki as you emerge into the outskirts of Sakaar. Within the crowds are the many markings of slavery. Collars and painted streaks across multicolored skin. You reach up to feel the delicate band of your own marking. The velvet is smooth beneath your fingertips, a contrast to the crude scrape-metal of your would-be peers. As you press on, Loki keeps you close to his side. His grip tightens at your waist. It’s only to show his dominance for other slavers but your stomach tightens, your heart quickens. When you finally find the so-called grotto, your heart stops.

“Is this it?” You ask, staring wide eyed at the scene before you. It is clearly artificial, a constructed playground of metallic forgery and cascading water pumped from unseen machinery. But it is the most “natural” looking feature you’ve seen on the planet thus far. It is populated by many patrons, all in varying degree of dress, frolicking amongst the waters. A few sip from vibrant elixirs, laughing through intoxication. 

“It would seem so.”

Loki leads you to what appears to be the entrance, where a hostess stands handing out towels to the exiting patrons. Water drips from their bare forms. You turn away in shame.

“Welcome,” the hostess greets with a bright smile, revealing several rows of sharp silver teeth. “Care to indulge this morning?”

“Why of course,” Loki responds with his own grin. “But I’m afraid my companion and I will need proper attire for swimming.”

You look up at him, baffled. You had assumed he was going to force you both to swim in the nude. To ridicule you, to push the limits of your modesty. But you will gladly take this turn of events.

The host nods simply before retrieving the appropriate swimwear for you both. She hands you a small square of fabric and motions for you to dress behind the curved cover of an artificial boulder. Loki’s eyes follow you as he leaves to dress himself. You duck behind the rock, feeling partially exposed as you peel off the crinkled dress. You drape the discarded clothing over the rock wall and unfold the swimwear. Revealed, it proves to be no larger than its condensed form. You slip it on over your legs, pulling the thin straps through your arms. It is made of a sleek fabric similar to the swimsuits you are accustomed to back home. It’s a tight fit, hugging your curves and accentuating every sensual dip of your body. The rounds of your breasts are only partially concealed beneath the fabric which tugs tight against your nipples, leaving them perked at attention. You run a hand down your body, between your legs, where the fabric pulls at your sex. Your cheeks flush as you take a step forward and the material rubs you in just the right way.

You re-emerge, moving carefully back to the hostess stand. You cross your arms but it does little to hide the true extent of your appearance. Loki is there waiting, wearing his own version of swimwear: a pair of tight shorts made of the same material as your own. Your eyes trace down the dark line of curls to the outline of his building desire against the pseudo latex. You force your eyes high, as does he. He meets your gaze with an intense expression and extends his hand to you in greeting. You take it. With your hand in his, he pulls you back to his side and guides you into the awaiting waters.

The water is waist deep but crystal clear, cool. The other patrons watch you as you pass through them, toward the furthest reaches of the grotto. At the end is a covered enclave, tucked away from the rest of Sakaar.

“If there is a portal here, it’s through there,” he whispers with a nod in that direction.

You nod as you wade through the water behind him. A woman laughs to your right and tosses back a mouthful of her drink. The liquid dribbles down her chin and cascades along the curve of her breasts. The men with her are quick to take turns cleaning her of the mess she’s made. She laughs louder. Loki watches. His grip tightens and he yanks you forward, never looking back.

Once beneath the cover of the enclave, cast in its shadows, you are surprised to find it void of any other Sakaarians. You are alone amongst the glistening waters. It shimmers against an invisible light source, rippling with each step forward.

“Well if your portal is here, it isn’t going anywhere,” you say. You move ahead of Loki and indulge in a brief moment of relaxation. Finally away from the all-seeing eye of the Grandmaster and the judgement of his citizens, you let your guard down. If only for a moment. You lay back and float atop the water. Closing your eyes, you release an appreciative sigh. When silence follows, you peel open one solitary eye to peer back at Loki. He is still standing near the entrance, unfazed and unmoving. Only his chest raises and falls steadily with each deep breath.

“Relax, will you?” You insist. “Or is that a foreign concept for you, Lord Conqueror?”

At first, he doesn’t respond, but when finally you close your eyes once again, he moves. He steps up behind you and brings his hands against your back. He slides them toward your sides as if to help you stay afloat. But his fingertips brush seductively along the supple flesh of your breasts, left partially exposed outside the swimsuit. You fight against a moan, the sensation sending shockwaves through the entirety of your body. He leans down over you but you dare not open your eyes.

“I thought if we were attired, you might prove to be less of a temptress,” he whispers against the curve of your ear. His breath is warm upon you as he moves his lips delicately down your neck. “How wrong I was...”

He suddenly licks along your neck. Alarmed, you sit up quickly and kick back away from him. You rest against the cave wall, a hand clutched to your chest as if a means of restored modesty.

“Why did you do that?” You snap. You reach a hand up to your neck. Your fingers dance along your pulse point. He laughs, his hands raised defensively.

“I only wanted a taste,” he argues with a smirk as he approaches you. “You said to relax, did you not?”

“I... I did... but I ...”

He leans over you, his hands held against the stone.

“And is this not... relaxing?” His lips hover a breath away from your own, daring you to take the leap, to bridge the gap. You open your mouth slightly, taking in the taste of his air. The flavor of his mouth held in the space between you.

“This is anything but relaxing,” you admit with a shaky voice. Being this close to him, it’s impossible to deny your attraction to the God of Lies. How your heart quickens. How there is that familiar  throbbing between your legs, a rhythmic reminder.

“Oh? Shall I help you then?” He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. You lick your lips. “Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what will put you at ease.”

You swallow hard, the words caught in your throat. But finally, when you speak, you can only manage simple words. They are uttered instructions, a mumbled command.

“Your hand.” You guide his touch to rest against your shoulder. “Your lips.”

He smirks and presses his mouth just below your ear. He kisses you gently, no more than a peck before moving back, away. “What else, pet? I need to know what it is you desire.”

You peer up at him. Your heart thunders against your chest. “Is this another lesson, Master?”

He laughs softly and smiles, letting his lips connect only slightly with your own. He moves enough to take in the sensation of your mouth. “Do you want it to be?” He asks in a whisper against your lips. You open your mouth more to receive him when laughter fills the cave.

“This looks like a good spot!”

You both turn to meet the sound. The woman from earlier comes wading in, flanked by her two beaus. She barely notices you both as she settles in against the other side of the grotto. “Come to me!” She calls out with a slur. “I’m so fucking horny!”

One of the men eagerly charges forward, splashing through the waters before taking her in his arms. But the other man hesitates, however, having noticed their company. “We aren’t alone,” he says with a nod toward you and Loki. But then he blinks and shakes his head, as if unsure of himself and what he’s seen.

“Of course we’re alone,” the other man insists. “Now get over here before I lose my buzz!”

“They can’t see us,” you whisper to Loki. His body is pressed into yours, sheltering you from sight. “How come they can’t see us?”

“I’ve cast an illusion,” he explains as he leans down into the curve of your shoulder. He kisses your neck once more, softly, as his hands begin to roam. “They will only see what I wish for them to see.”

“And what do you want them to see?” You gasp as his fingers find your taut nipples. He pinches and tugs against them. You arch your back toward his touch without thought of recourse.

“Nothing. For now.” He continues a path of sweet caresses down your neck, resting his lips at the base of your throat. “You are mine. And mine alone.”

He pulls against the fabric, tearing it away and exposing the entirety of your breast. He takes it into his mouth greedily, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. You moan deeply and thread your fingers through his hair, holding tight to the back of his head. His hand finds your other breast, kneading it tenderly. You moan his name softly in approval.

With his mouth still held against your breast, he peers up at you with eyes blown black with desire. “Tell me what you want,” he says again, more firmly this time. “Tell me.”

“Your hand,” you gasp. “Your lips...”

He radiates with gifted mischief as his lips leave your breast. His hand moves down the length of your belly and settles on your awaiting mound. He glides two fingers slowly, tentatively, against the clothed strip held above your sex. He traces the line of your slit with one sweeping motion. You suck in air between clinched teeth and dig your nails into his shoulders. You cling to him and hold him steady. He hums happily as he moves his fingers back up, retracing his path. His touch dances over your swollen clit beneath the dark latex. You feel your sex throb in response. As ashamed as you are, your legs part more for him.

“My lips too?” He asks as he presses his fingers in. The fabric bunches and gathers into your sex, a strip of twisted material forced inward. “Or are my fingers enough?”

You gasp and thrust toward his hand. You need more. You want more. But if he pushes you any further, you may never return. “Please... I can’t...”

“You can.” He lifts his hand away, however. Finally, his lips find yours fully. You indulge in his kiss, in the flavor of his sin. His arm wraps tight around you while yours ensnare around his neck. You slide your tongue into his mouth, all too eager to taste his pleasure. He lets you, continuing the dance with the swirl of his own tongue. While you are distracted, his hand returns to your sex, rubbing circles into your clothed clit. You moan deeply, happily.

“You respond so beautifully to my touch,” he praises as he kisses you deeply once more and continues your mutual destruction. You reach forward and find the evidence of his arousal; his stiff length held in your grasp beneath the swimsuit. He muffles a moan into the crook of your neck. His teeth sink in deep as you tug against him.

“So do you,” you whisper. Your hand is shaking. But he is weakened enough by your caress to give you the upper hand. Behind his shoulder, you notice the woman taking in the two men, all three of them caught in the depths of their own desire. It arouses you more, watching them. You follow the motion of their thrusts. Up and down. Up and down. You glide your hand over him in time to the forbidden display.

“Pet,” he growls. Not wanting to be bested, he quickens his pace. Your knees buckle and you grip tight to his shoulder, clinging desperately to keep your balance and your sanity.

“Perhaps I can make you cum again with such a simple caress.” His voice is labored. “Shall we find out?”

You move your hand up and down over his length in response. “I’d like to see you try.” You mean to sound more confident than your voice can portray. It wavers, lost in the building peaks of pleasure held beneath his fingertips. But then the touch is gone. He pulls you up onto a ledge, leaving you there with your legs spread wide. He slides down until his face is level with your throbbing sex.

“You asked for my mouth, pet,” he reminds you in a pur before he kisses your mound softly. You whimper as both hands find the tuff of his long hair. He peers up at you between your legs, smiling devilishly. He knows he’s won. He slides his tongue along the seam of the swimsuit, just beside your covered sex. One long stroke to each side that leaves you breathless. It trickles your flesh and excites every nerve into acute awareness. Then his fingers return, putting back just the right amount of pressure to your pleasure center. 

“Oh god,” you let go involuntarily in a whimper. You hold him close as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of release. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up.

But he grabs your chin and holds your gaze steady as he says, “I am your God now.” And you cum, forcefully, against the guidance of his fingers. You moan and fall heavy against him, sliding off the ledge back into the cool awaiting waters.

He never once needed to touch you directly. Just the pressure, the tease. It was enough to send you spiraling into ecstasy. As you come down from your high, your head resting lazily against his shoulder, you wonder what his fingers might feel like bare against the entirety of your sex. You whimper. But beneath your own touch is his still hard length, left unsatisfied. You start up again but he grips your wrist, stopping you.

“No,” he whispers harshly. “There will be plenty of time for that lesson, pet. Enjoy this opportunity to be a little greedy.”

Behind him, the woman moans loudly in an exaggerated fashion as she too finishes. Loki turns to look at her, caught in the arms of her two lovers. She pushes the men off, effectively done with them and their allotted purpose. They hold their still hard cocks in their hands and grunt their frustration.

“I don’t want to be greedy,” you whisper back and slide your hand underneath his swim shorts. He gasps and fights back a whimper as your fingers delicately trace the bare length of his cock. You don’t dare look but with his sex held in your grasp, you know he has reason to be so confident.

“Fuck... you are such a little minx,” he growls as he thrusts into your hand. You stroke him slowly, building his pleasure. “That’s it... don’t stop.”

“Tell me what you want,” you say softly. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just keep doing that...” he begs. “Keep touching me like that. A little faster...”

You follow his command, quickening your pace. His cock stiffens, throbs, responding so beautifully to the stroke of your hand. You don’t stop. Not until he thrusts forward, grunts and the warm evidence of his release seeps down between your fingers. He sighs deeply as you pull your hand free. You stare down at the creamy residue sleek across your skin.

“Messy girl,” he whispers. His eyes are still darkened by desire as he gazes down at you, but he has been tamed by the surrender. You clean your hand in the water and turn away, watching as your guests slowly retreat back out of the grotto. 

“We should... look for the portal,” you say as you clear your throat. Your face is hot from your mutual explorations.

“Do you really think I cared about some stupid portal?” Loki says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the grotto wall. You struggle to meet the intensity of his gaze.

“But don’t you want to get off this planet? Don’t you want to go home?” You manage to ask.

“Of course I do.” He reaches out a hand to you and pulls you to his chest. “But these moments with you make it harder to want to leave. I’m quite enjoying this little game of cat and mouse, pet. When we leave Sakaar, will that be left behind too?”

Finally, with your hands held to his chest, you look up at him. Into those rich emerald ores that weaken you instantly. You won’t admit you enjoy it too, being with him without the pretenses left waiting for you on Earth. 

“So you lured me here just to what, fool around?”

“Notice how nothing here is natural,” he begins as he cradles you to his chest. He lazily plays with your hair, his lips held to your crown. “Not even this grotto. The water around us, while clearly harmless, is really just a mixture of substances. Impure.”

“What are you getting at?” You ask into his chest, hiding the blush building across your skin in response to his intimacy.

“Where did this all come from? All these gathered rejects. The people too. Scattered bits from across the universe. They all must have come here by some means through which we can escape.”

“Scattered bits...” you repeat before pushing off to look at him more directly. “You don’t think they came here just like we did, do you?”

He raises an eyebrow with mild amusement. “Through the Bifrost? Don’t be absurd.”

“Through wormholes,” you correct. “Gaps in space and time. Gathered from the far reaches of the galaxy and tossed out here. The land of misfit toys.”

“The what?”

You shake your head with a laugh and pull him back out of the grotto. “Come on. I have a theory.”

As you emerge from the grotto, you search the sky for the first time since you’ve arrived on this planet. Having been sequestered within the Grandmaster’s palace, there had been little luxury for stargazing. You move around to the edge of the grotto which gives you a clear view of what has been deemed as the wastelands, unsafe for guests of the Grandmaster. But here at the outskirts of civilization, in the bright light of early day, you can see the corner of sky once unseen from your former confides. Scattered amongst the clouds is a collection of open portals. Like trash shoots that spew their contents down onto the surface of the planet - a rain of metal and lifeforms.Loki stares up beside you. He laughs lightly.

“Clever mortal...” he hums in approval. “Now we will need a means of flying through one.”

The way he speaks, so calm, but amused, content. It’s as if he isn’t surprised by what he is seeing in the slightest. His reaction seems to be cued up more on the fact that you had discovered this yourself.

“You knew,” you whisper down into the waters. “You knew but you wanted to test me... to see if I could figure it out.” To see if you were a worthy companion, an ally to keep by his side.

Again, he strokes your hair affectionately, like a pet, his fingers brushing the back of your ear. “You’ve done well,” is all he says in answer. It’s enough to confirm.

You bottle down your annoyance. Once again he has managed to so easily deceive you. But you’ve passed his test and surely you would pass any others he could concoct for his approval. You need to be a step ahead, not some toy for him to riddle with. “Does that invisibility cloak trick of yours work for very long?”

“I’ve never tested it. Why?” He smirks. “You have a scheme in mind. I can see your little mind turning.”

You try to subdue the smile as it curls involuntarily across your lips. You won’t give him the satisfaction. You lead him through the waters back out of the grotto. The air has turned cold once you emerge and you are eager to take the offered towel. You shiver beneath the cover of it across your shoulders.

“I should find some dry clothes though first,” you say as you gaze down at yourself and the tight swimsuit, still glistening with moisture.

“No, keep it on.” Loki pulls you by the waist to his side and whispers seductively in your ear, “I want to remember what I did to you in that little outfit for the rest of the day.”


	7. Burnt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I hope everyone is recovering well from Endgame (I certainly am not). My heart still aches quite a bit. But hopefully this will help! Definitely feel inspired by all the Loki love as of late. I am even considering jumping back into Spitfire (found some forgotten later chapters I had begun for it a long time ago). Anyone interested in me continuing that? 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

“The Grandmaster requires your presence immediately.”

The message is delivered by a meek, soft-spoken servant who bows deeply upon admittance to your chambers. You have barely been back for a few minutes, long enough for Loki to whisper promises of another lesson. This time, involving much more than a mere tease. But those promises started long before now.

As you walked back to your chambers, his fingers delicately traced the gentle curve of your bottom, left exposed outside the swimsuit. Shame rippled through you with every soft caress. But you could not fight back, not when so many eyes watched your every move. Not when the threat of death hung in the air around you at every given moment. Comply and live, resist and die.

Even still, he dared not let you cover yourself. Any hint that you might would reward you with a firm pinch upon your rear. You yelped and bit your lip the first time, glaring at him in warning over your shoulder. This merely seemed to encourage his behavior. The second time he grabbed you, you fought back the moan rumbling up your throat. He chuckled behind you, triumphant in his delivered punishment.

“Is all of that really necessary?” You hissed in a low whisper.

“Quite,” he said with a small laugh. “You are blushing, pet.”

You turned away in annoyance, ready to be done with his cruel affections for the day. Thoughts of your time with him in the shallow waters were all too fresh in your mind.

“What is your plan, pet?” He whispered after giving you the serenity of silence. All around you Sakaarians gawked at your state of undress. Not that your appearance was that unusual on Sakaar. But your shame, however, was foreign. “How do you think we can use my... what did you call it? Invisibility cloak?”

You swallowed hard and shifted further away from Loki and the threat of his hand. “If we can learn where the Grandmaster’s armory is, perhaps we can sneak in, take a look around,” you explained. “Even steal a few things.”

“Clever mortal,” he purred. “I do love the way your mind is slowly becoming corruptible.”

“Who said it wasn’t already… corrupted?”

He blinked at you before his expression broke into a magnificent grin. “My little virgin, corrupted? No, not you.” With the round of a corner, he pushed you into the nearest wall, to which you yelped in surprise. He pinned you in as he scooped up your chin to gaze upon you. His cool fingers caressed the scoop of your throat with one long line. “You are as pure as freshly laid snow. Delicate. A sweet morsel to devour. But once I am through with you, you will be so deliciously corrupted. Just as you wish.”

“Through with me?” You echoed. The words regrettably stung through your heart. You winced and turned away. Didn’t you want to be through with his games?

He pulled away with a narrowed gaze, studying you. You felt small, fragile under his examination. But quickly, he turned on his heels, taking the lead as you neared your chambers. “We have plenty of time left to us, pet,” he reassured. But his voice was uncertain. “But more importably, this plan of yours. We will need to find the location of the armory, determine if there are any pitfalls in such a venture.”

You nodded, listening. Though your mind was split, racing to interpret the beating of your heart. The anxious rhythm that refused to surrender. Survival. Thats all this was.

“How will we do that?” You asked as a distraction for you both.

“There will be more parties, rest assured, where we can pry the information from Sakaarians willing to speak with us. They won’t be hard to find. Especially if we play our cards right, people will be flocking to us in droves.”

“And why is that?”

He turned the last corner swiftly and pulled you into your room, shutting the door with a gentle close. He leaned into the doorway before turning once more to face you. He was so close that you could smell the sweet bitterness of his breath as he exhaled over you.

“You have much more still to learn, my little protege, if we are to lure in our prey.”

“You love using that as an excuse, don’t you?” The heat rose into your cheeks but still you mocked him. “‘ _I must seduce you. It’s part of our strategy_.’”

“Is it?” He laughed and leaned in to kiss the tender spot below your ear. You shivered regrettably in reaction. Your hand twitched, recalling what you had done earlier. Though it had never been part of any strategy for survival. None at all.

“Well, am I… seducing you effectively, pet?”

“No,” you choked as his tongue traced a line up your neck.

“Would you like to know why they call me the Silver Tongue?” He whispered, sucking on your earlobe, the skin caught between his teeth.

“Honestly?” You choked out a laugh. “That’s your best pick up line?”

He scrawled over your shoulder. “Would you rather I simply ask if you’d like me to eat your pussy? Is that direct enough for you?”

You pushed away from him, ashamed by your own thoughts hurtling toward admittance. Your face felt impossibly hot. As if you’d been poisoned once again.

“That’s enough, Loki,” You growled. “There’s no one here you need to impress.”

“Perhaps not.” He turns away, a deep, penetrable anger rippling off his shoulders. He sulked toward the window when the knock came, drawing both of your attentions back to the doorway.

“What is the meaning for his calling?” Loki grunts in annoyance. He slips on his leathers in preparation for the audience with the Sakaarian ruler. You turn away, but not enough. You catch a glimpse of his bare sex, a swaying temptation. You lick your lips involuntarily.

“He did not say, sir,” the servant replies in a nervous mumble. Loki finishes dressing and when you reach for a grown, newly delivered to your room, he snatches your wrist. “All day,” he reminds you in a harsh whisper. His voice sends shivers down your spine. You nod and step toward the doorway. But as Loki attempts to follow, the servant wedges themself between the two of you.

“Only you,” they say. Their eyes hold firmly upon you. “The Grandmaster made that very clear.”

“I won’t leave her side,” Loki replies, tugging you toward him. But the servant is persistent.

“I can’t allow that,” they say more firmly this time, with their arm held between you, severing your tie to Loki. There is fear in their voice, a fear made tangible by the mangled appearance of their flesh. You note the scattered bruises covering every inch of their arm, left exposed from under their robes. They catch you staring and pull back, quickly adjusting the fabric.

“What exactly did the Grandmaster say he wanted?” Loki hisses. His grip on your hand tightens.

“Only that he needed the girl,” the servant replies. “I am to bring her to his chambers. Alone.”

“For what purpose?” Loki snaps sharply, a venomous rage apparent in his tone. The servant stumbles back in alarm.

“What other purpose would there be?” You whisper. Loki turns to look at you, concern flashing across his emerald ores. His shoulders stiffen.

“I will go in her place,” he says firmly, definitively. He pushes you back into the room behind him. “If the Grandmaster requires company, surely I will be more than enough for him.”

“But sir,” the servant begins to protest, but Loki pushes past them, his resolve firm, unwavering.

“Loki, don’t!” You try in protest but it falls on deaf ears.

“Take me to him,” he orders with a stern glare that makes the servant move back into action, starting down the hall.

You fumble toward the doorway, reaching out to stop Loki. But he halts only long enough to whisper a command. “You lock the door behind me. Do not let anyone in. Do you understand me?”

Again, you nod meekly and watch as he disappears down the hall. You shut the door, locking it as he commanded. You lean against it, palms flat against the surface. Your heart races within your chest, swirling with dread. But for what reason? Surely Loki could handle himself. And as the hours pass, it becomes your mantra: _He can handle himself_. But time passes slowly as you wait starring toward the doorway. Eventually, you give in to defeat and settle in on the window sill. You watch the crowds shift and disperse below as the day fades into night. And still, no sign of Loki. Your eyelids grow heavy and you lean your head against the glass. You allow sleep to pull you into its awaiting comfort.

There, in your subconscious mind, is the ease of a hazy dream. Loki stands, his hand held out for you.He is safe, unharmed. He smiles, his eyes kind and gentle. An unusual sight from the God of Mischief but somehow, a strange comfort. As if any remnants of his cruel facade have been discarded like forgotten clothing.

“My queen,” he whispers as he takes your hand and kisses your fingers gently. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“My King,” you reply automatically as you pull him into your embrace. A lover’s embrace. Full of longing and desire. But more than lust. Love. “Not too long I hope?”

“I’d wait until the end of this world for you,” he whispers sweetly as he kisses the corner of your mouth. You turn to meet him fully. The kiss is hardly enough to satisfy you both, your hands roaming with endless abandon. Your palm falls flat against the firm line of his arousal, pressing hard into your touch.

“Take what’s yours,” he whispers. But it isn’t a command. It’s a plea. His head falls over your shoulder as you reach under his trousers to retrieve him. Just as you had in the pool.

There is a thud outside the room, a sound that pulls you from your dream world. You lift your head with clouded eyes, and turn from the view outside your window. The lock turns against an invisible hand and the door is pushed inward. A silhouette slides in from the dark hall. Anxious, you raise to your feet. But even cast against the shadows, you know it is your master returned. However, he is worse for wear than when he left you.

He hangs in the doorway, his body bent unnaturally against the metallic frame. His hand grips to the wall to hold himself upright. His knees tremble and a sheen of sweat holds strands of hair sleek to his forehead. He strains to breathe, his chest barely raising with each shallow intake of air. You bolt from the window and race toward him, making it to his side just as he begins to collapse forward. You catch him and attempt to hold him steady, but he is heavier than you can manage. All of his weight is held, weakened, and draped across your hold. Though, he is resistant to your touch, shifting away slightly with a groan, clawing at your arms. You tremble and struggle but manage to drag him toward the bed, despite his meager protests. He collapses onto his back. His chest heaves desperately for a full breath of air.

“Loki, what happened to you?” Your eyes dance over every inch of exposed flesh. His former leather tunic has been replaced by a frail shirt that is torn and burnt, hanging in tattered strains around his shoulders. The patch of his chest that peaks through the fabric is scarred with delicate, rosy burns the shape of small dewdrops. They leave a trail tracing down past his navel. You take a step closer, daring to take a more intimate look. You extend your hand toward him.

But before you can make contact, he catches your wrist. His grip holds more strength than you had anticipated, given his state. You gasp in pain, wincing.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses. His eyes gleam with hatred, burning at the edges. But you can see in his gaze that his anger is not meant for you. You try to retreat but he holds steadfast to your wrist.

“What did he do to you?” You ask gently, searching his eyes for the answer. He does not speak but his mouth twitches. You slide onto the bed beside him as he slowly relinquishes control, your wrist free but sore. He turns onto his side with a hiss, his back facing you. This way, you can see that the burns do not reside on his chest alone, but are left in tendrils all across his skin. You are mindful of his command, keeping your distance. You rest your hands nervously in your lap. “Please, just talk to me.”

“Its none of your concern,” he snaps. Every movement echoes the pain he has endured. He stiffens.

“He hurt you,” you say, matter-of-factly. “He did this to you. The Grandmaster. Why?”

“Stop your questioning, pet,” he growls as he turns into the pillow, muffling his response. “I have no patience for your insolence.”

“And I won’t sit here and do nothing while you are in pain.”

You stand and walk toward the small washing basin in the corner of the room. The water within is cool, perfect for the treatment of a burn. You dose a towel in the depths of the water, ringing it twice before returning to the bed. Timidly, you sit back beside him. Your eyes dance over his back, half obscured by the torn clothing. You reach out with a trembling hand.

“Loki, I’m going to need you to take this off,” you whisper.

“I said to leave me alone, you insufferable mortal!” He snaps. You watch as his fists tighten into blood-drained rounds. You do not take his words to heart, hearing only his pain within each insult.

“I’m not going to stop, you know.” You glide a finger under the material of the shirt, lifting it slightly. “It’ll be a lot easier if you cooperate.”

He groans in response but shifts enough that you are able to carefully lift the soiled fabric up over his body. He sucks in air between his teeth but complies. Once his chest and back are bare to you, you take the towel and carefully begin to dap at each wound. At first, his back convulses against your touch. He arches and snarls, an animal uncaged. Once again, you reach for him. Weakened as he is, his back to you, he does not move to stop you as your fingers land gingerly against the base of his skull. Slowly, carefully, you try to move your fingers through the mangle threads of his hair but it is caked with bits of red wax. You pick at the larger clumps until you can comb your fingers through the rest, to rid him of the filth. He never once attempts to stop you, calming beneath your touch. He lies still, his face buried into the pillow as you work. When you are satisfied with his hair, you massage your fingers into his scalp and down his neck, careful to ease the tension you feel tight across his body. He turns, only slightly, giving you full access to his back. His hands remain in resistant fists.

You study his back, as burnt and scarred as his chest. Marks litter his skin where the wax had dripped onto his flesh in delivered pours. You trace your fingers around each red burn, careful not to harm. When you find a bit of flesh free from the infliction, you press in, massaging his aching muscles. These scars, the evidence of what he had endured at the hands of the Grandmaster, are a window into his true nature. The Grandmaster had made it very clear that you were the one he wanted. That you were his prize yet to be claimed. And yet Loki had gone in your place, had taken whatever lashings the Grandmaster could inflict, had become the object of his desires so you might walk away unharmed. And there, on his back, is revealed another truth. You study the wounds, the way each burn has charred his flesh to reveal that same cobalt blue you had once witnessed. The violet skin that fascinated you beyond reason. You trace the cool towel across his budding scars. With each lift of the material, it comes back red, marred. But you continue, soothing him as best you can.

“Perhaps I can call for servants,” you whisper, more to yourself than for his benefit. “Maybe they have some medicine. Something…” 

“No,” he groans. “I will heal. Just… don’t stop.”

“Loki…”

“I don’t need your pity,” he growls, turning back away. But you notice his hands have loosened their grip, laying idling aside the pillow.

“I don’t pity you,” you reply softly. “I’m… I don’t know how I feel.”

“You shouldn’t feel anything.” The words are muffled into the fabric of the pillow.

Your body trembles, overcome but the thundering rhythm of your heart, the ache within. This man, this beast as you once would have happily called him, had sacrificed himself to see you safe. But why? Why did he care about your fragile existence? Were you not just a pawn in his game? No. That was the problem in and of itself. You are not his pawn. You are something else entirely. And now, he is something more to you than a master in a game of chess. He is your safety.

Without thinking, you lie beside him and curl against him. You hold your arm around him where he is left unharmed. Where it won’t hurt him to do so. He stiffens beneath your touch in shock but you cannot see his expression, obscured on the other side.

“I’m going to protect you now,” you whisper into his skin. “I promise I won’t let him do this to you again.”

For a moment, he does not speak, does not move. You lie there together with a world of uncertainty wedged between you. You begin to feel it strike daggers through your already fragile bravado and shift away slightly. 

“Why do you do this?” He asks suddenly as he turns his head to regard you. 

“Do what?” You ask as your fingers lift from his back.

“Care for me.”

You stare at him blankly, unsure how to respond. Why do you care of him, the God of Lies and Mischief? The man who brought you into the predicament. The man who used you for his own sick game. Or did he? He’d put himself in peril to save you. Your fingers hover over the raw patches of skin that could have easily marred your own flesh had he let you go. He is much more than the God who laid waste to New York. No, he is more than mere stories. This man before you, this man is his truth.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly. “Why do you care for me?” You counter.

He turns and sits up straight, leaning slightly forward so his sore back will not touch the headboard.

“I don’t,” he replies but his eyes are gentle, pained.

“Then why did you let the Grandmaster do this to you? He would have done this to me had I gone.” You shift closer, wedging yourself between his parted legs. He shifts uncomfortably away from your sudden proximity but stays, his face inches away from your own. You reach up a hand to his chest, your fingers fluttering along the trail of painted wax. “He could have done worse.” Your hand quivers at the thought.

He reaches out and holds your hand just above his chest, preventing any further exploration. 

“I won’t let that happen,” he whispers softly. Without saying another word, he leans into you and lets his lips press gently against your own. You open your mouth to him, moving with him until he stalls, forcing you to take the lead. You eagerly lick the line of his lips until he sighs into you and lets you lap up his offered affection. You suck and pull on his lower lip, receiving a heady moan from your master. He presses nearer as his hands inch around your back. Unsure where to touch him safely, your own land at the back of his head, holding him steady. 

“Where can I touch you?” You ask in a moan against his lips. You open your eyes long enough to see his expression. One of pure weakness. Submissive surrender.

“Like before,” he barely manages to admit. His voice is breathy and lost in his debilitated state of lust and agony. “Touch me like before.”

You pull your hand away from his tangled hair. Timidly, you reach between his legs, where his arousal is already eagerly awaiting your touch. You trace a tentative finger down his clothed length. He arches his hips into your hand. You are determined to take away his pain and replace it with something pure, real.

“Please,” he begs, startling you. But you will not hesitate any longer. There is no telling how long you will have him this way before your cruel master returns in full.

“I need these off of you,” you say before swallowing hard to force back the reminder of your trepidation.

He follows your command, shifting out of the leather trousers. At first he struggles, but you help him, pulling the fabric down and away. Finally, you have the full length of his sex in your sight. It twitches between his legs as if aware it has been caught under your gaze. It is threaded with thick veins, ordained with a dark head. At the base are splotches where the wax had landed and stopped. At the tip, is a pearl of awaiting want, begging to be removed. You no longer feel unsure. All at once, you know what you want. The thrill of it surges through you, reverberating through your core with a persistent throb. You lick your lips. Your hand will just not be good enough this time. 

“Fuck!” He shouts in alarm and pleasure as your lips make contact with his glistening head. You kiss him softly before taking the entirety of his tip into your mouth. His hand goes to your head, holding you steady as your little tongue traces an exploratory line up his shaft, starting at the base. You kiss the scars there softly, tenderly. He is salty with musk. Your mouth waters at the taste. You gather the rest of his lubrication and swirl your tongue around the head. You always imagined such an act would feel derogatory, belittling. But all you feel is dominance and a growing lust to taste more of his cock. 

“Norns… waited too long…” Loki mumbles incoherently. “Too long to have your mouth…” 

That’s when you take him in all the way. Only the head at first but then slowly, the rest. You slide your lips down over his length while your other hand strokes the reminder in perfect synchronicity, providing the entity of his cock with the smooth rhythm. He is too big to fit all the way into your mouth, too thick. But you do your best with what you can manage.

“If you keep on like that, I’m going to cum,” he warns as his grip tightens against your skull.

“Good,” you moan against his shaft before quickening your pace. “I want you to.”

But before you can bring him to deliverance, he forcefully pulls you away by your hair. He yanks you up to eye level. “What are you playing at?” He snarls with eyes alit with fire.

Your mouth slacks open in uncertainty. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“Yes, you do.” He tosses you away as if completely discarding the thought of you. He reaches for his trousers, shuffling back into them with a muttered curse, his cock still stiff with want.

You sit up, baffled as you lick your lips clean his taste. Your shock and embarrassment leave you shellshocked in silence. After a moment, you remember how to speak. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To train me?” You ask. Your voice vibrates with a hurt you would rather not admit.

“You hardly need training,” he practically growls. “You took me for a fool, didn’t you?” He snaps around to stare at you, pressing you into the headboard of the metallic bed frame by your shoulders.

“No… Loki, what are you…”

“Don’t mistake my generosity for kindness. Or my cooperation for weakness.” He grabs you by your throat, his nails growing dark. Cobalt bleeds along his pale skin, crawling toward his wrist. The beast unleashed within the palm of his hand. His eyes grow red, like the hot molten wax that once inflicted him unwillingly.

“Is it so hard to believe that I might not want to see you in pain?” You struggle to say against his hold. You shift around his fist, but it’s not enough. Not enough to show the fear he so desires from you. You hold your gaze steady, firm. “This isn’t just about survival anymore. This is more than that. Tell me it isn’t.”

His grip loosens immediately. His eyes hold to yours in question.

“It isn’t,” he replies too quickly. His hand slides down the front of your chest, landing in the valley between your breasts. Your heart races beneath his palm, an unavoidable admittance. He jerks his hand away as if the sensation has burnt him, more than the Grandmaster’s wax ever could. You reach out and pull his hand back in place. You hold it directly over your heart.

“It is,” you argue firmly.

For a moment, you sit there like that, his hand held above your breast. The only sound is your mutual breathing, deep but unsteady. Then he startles you by pushing you down onto the bed.You stare up at him with wide, uncertain eyes and though you gasp as he begins to peel away the swimsuit you still wear, you do not resist. You move with him, shifting so that the swimsuit can be pushed down and away. It slides free from your shoulders, revealing the fullness of your breasts to him. His gaze is held low at first but eventually he tilts his attention higher and growls appreciatively. He licks his lips in anticipation.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warns. His eyes are still that unnatural red, his hands still monstrous. But when he begins to grope at your breasts with an unforgiving roughness, you want more of the monster within him. You arch your back, pushing your chest toward his touch. “Such perfect breasts,” he praises. “Just begging to be sucked.”

He takes one into his mouth, sucking and tugging on your already perked nipple. Your subsequent moan fades into a gasp as he pulls free with an audible pop.

“But more than that…” He takes his cock in hand, freeing it from his unfastened trousers, now loose around his hips. “They are just begging to be fucked.” 

He straddles your waist and lines the tip of his sex toward your breasts. Pre-cum drips down onto your nipple. He is quick to sweep it around your sensitive bud, chuckling as you whimper and wither beneath his touch.

“You said you wanted me to cum,” he reminds you. “Then make me cum, pet.”

As if silently commanded to do so, you press your breasts together, allowing him to wedge himself between them. You throw your head back as he thrusts into the created valley. With one hand, he grips the headboard behind you, with the other, he bring his fingers toward your lips. He urges you to suck. You take one into your mouth, imagining it is his cock instead. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he growls in encouragement as he thrusts harder. “So tight…” His fingers pull free and you groan in protest. Tilting your head down, you manage to touch the tip of your tongue to your cock. You give it a teasing lick. “Fuck!”

His movements quicken. You slide your breasts up and down over his length. With each thrust, the pulse echoes between your legs. Deep within your womb, pleasure builds. Despite not being touched. You twist your legs together in your need for pressure, for your own release. Loki moans deeply above you, the same way you remember he had earlier that day. You know he is close. “Please,” you beg, parting your lips for him. Your thighs press firmly together as the sensation builds within your own sex. “I want to taste you.” 

“Filthy little minx,” he growls before muttering another curse and thrusting deep and hard toward you. His cock twitches and a stream of release is delivered upon your awaiting tongue. You gasp as the salty warmth hits your taste buds. The texture is off-putting at first but you are more than happy to swallow the gift. It slides down your throat and in response, your sex throbs with meager delivery, a small but deserving climax. You twist beneath him, squirming slightly. He is breathing heavy over you, pulling his cock free of you. Small droplets litter your chest upon departure. You leave them there as a sign of your obedience. He stays straddles over your legs and stares down intently at you as if you were a brilliant work of art. 

“I told you you took me for a fool,” he exhales. You watch as his cock slowly softens with mild disappointment. He finally shifts off of you with an amused grin. “You really want me to believe you’ve never done that before?”

“I haven’t.”

He turns to regard you with an eyebrow arched in confusion. “Drop the virgin act, pet.”

“Its not an act!”

His gaze traces over your wet breasts to the spot between your legs, the point now soiled upon the swimsuit. The clear evidence of your arousal. His eyes softens and he shifts, grabbing the towel you once used to soothe his wounds. Leaning over you, he begins to wipe you clean of his gifted sin. You whimper slightly as he sweeps the towel in slow, careful motions around each breast. He purposefully avoids your needy nipples. His eyes trace over each curve, trailing up to finally meet your gaze. He holds you there and leaves you hypnotized under his judgement. “And yet you are capable of so much,” he says in wonder. “A virgin with the soul of a slut.” He laughs and his lips break into a full grin. “How did I get so lucky to be stuck on Sakaar with such a woman…”

Your cheeks flush immediately. He pulls back and surprisingly, shifts the swimsuit back in place to secure your former modesty. Now tarnished by his exploration and use of your body. But rather than shame, every nerve feels acutely alive. Ready for more. You sit up straight and lean back against the headboard. He sits beside you, you both staring forward. After a moment that lasts impossibly too long, Loki speaks but his words are so shocking, you are not sure you’ve heard him correctly. So you ask him to repeat himself.

“I said thank you,” he repeats. “I… I needed that.” It is as if it takes every ounce of his power to admit it. _Gratitude_. But you know it's not that he is thanking you simply for the sexual release. He needed to forget. He needed a memory of this night that did not involve the torture inflicted by the Grandmaster. But you need to know the extend of what had been done to him. You would need it to fuel your escape, to use it as a means to kill if it came to that.

“What exactly did he do to you?” You ask in a low whisper. You wince when he does not respond right away. It was a mistake. Too soon. You should have waited, you decide. But then Loki shifts and leans against your side, your shoulders touching. It is oddly more intimate than anything else that has conspired between you.

“Its called wax play,” he explains. “I am almost certain it exists on Midgard." When you do not respond, he goes on. "It is meant to extract pain but also pleasure.”

“And did it… give you pleasure?” You ask timidly.

“Perhaps in other circumstances it might have,” he admits with a frail smile. “But the grandmaster only wanted to inflict pain, to maim me. Perhaps it was meant as punishment for taking your place. It was not done correctly, the wax too hot. Normally, it shouldn’t wound a lover. But as you saw… that was not the case for me.”

“If done correctly…” you mimic. Your mind races with the traces of a new scheme. “You know how to do it correctly?”

He shifts to look at you directly. “Yes, I’ve done it to a few lovers. Why?” 

“Would you do it to me?”

He staggers back, looking flabbergasted. “Do you realize what you are asking of me?”

You turn and hold him steady with your hands on his knees. His gaze holds there momentarily before you speak. “Why don’t we give the Grandmaster a taste of his own medicine? Torment him. Dangle the forbidden fruit infront of his face knowing he will never have a bite.” 

His eyes have finally faded back to their familiar, gentle green. And while no longer devilish, they glisten with stirring mischief as he takes in the weight of your suggestion. “You trust me to do that?” He asks slowly. “You trust I won’t hurt you the way he did me?”

“I trust you want pleasure,” you state. “I trust that I… that I do as well. And more than anything, I want him to pay for what he did to you.”

Loki smirks and grabs hold of your chin to pull you in for a brief, but sinful kiss, his tongue slipping in to swirl just once around your mouth. He is still smiling when he pulls away and whispers against your lips, “You were right. You _are_ already corrupted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty excited to explore wax play. Anyone interested in reading that in a future chapter?


	8. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure depravity and sex.
> 
>  **Written to:**  
>  "Dark in my Imagination" by Of Verona  
> "Cruel" by Foxes

**Image Inspiration:**

****

[ ](http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/mp/XT5EIxdWFe3x.gif)

\------

You do not remember sleeping, nor dreaming, only drifting off with the sensation of Loki’s breath cascading down your neck. It lulled you into still serenity atop the bed where you laid together, as close as almost-lovers could be. He barely touched you. His fingertips reached out to play idly with your hair. It was the first time you’d shared the bed. It made your heart race, your breath catch. He had even begun to whisper softly into your ear as you faded out of consciousness. Sounds and sensations blurred. Feelings crossed the line from reality into imaginary.

“What will I do with you?” He may have said. “My sweet little mortal…”

But perhaps it had only been a fabricated memory, a fantasy pulled into fruition. Regardless of what they may have been, the words echo through your heart as you welcome the day.

“I can’t wait to make you mine.”

As you stir, turning on your side, you find the bed empty beside you. Loki often did this, wandering off in the early hours of the morning. You wonder if he dreads early confrontation, or the lazy leisure you so often indulged in, sprawled atop the bed. But the remnants of him remain: his aroma against the sheets, his discarded, soiled clothing from the day before, the stain of his release left upon the bed. But most of all is the sleek arousal warm between your legs. The spark of sin left ignited by his delivery upon your breast. You recall the salty taste of his release, the way he had starred down upon you with such rare reverence. There was a fire in his eyes, a fire that would consume you whole. Those flames grew within you overnight, where unremembered dreams demanded your submission. The gnawing need now throbs against your womb. A selfish part of you wishes, hopes beyond reason, that he would have been there beside you. That just this once, after a day of broken barriers, he might awaken you. That he might be more human than beast. It’s a romantic invention, constructed from nothing. 

You shift and press your legs together in an attempt to dull its persistent knocking. But it does little to quell the fire. And try as you might to ignore it, you know there is only one way to survive the day: to address your need fully, without regret. You have never been one for self-indulgence, finding very little actual pleasure in the act. It felt forced, unnecessary. But here, with thoughts of a certain mischievous God running ramped through your mind, you cannot imagine any other solution.

You forcefully pull the swimsuit down by its thin straps. It slides down your body, already sleek with perspiration. You kick it uselessly to the side as your hand slides between your legs to find that spot of moist awaiting pleasure. A single finger traces a line down your slit and gathers the sheen of your want upon your skin. You sigh in appreciation of your own touch. A finger slides in, just the nub. You arch toward your hand as your other gropes at your breast. All you can think of, the source of your sexual need, is Loki. That infernal tormentor. The way he teased you. The way he touched you in the grotto. The way he spoke to you as he pressed his cock between your breasts. The promises laden within each lingering glance. Your finger pushes in deeper, curling. How could you let this happen? How could you let him lure you into his wonderland of lust? How could let him create such a depraved wanton creature out of you?

 _Filthy little minx._ His voice echoes and resounds, wrapping around you like a phantom embrace.

You turn on your stomach, writhing against the sheets.

“Fuck… Loki,” you moan helplessly. You relish in the sound of his name on your tongue in such languished admittance. Just that alone brings you pleasure. You can almost hear him saying your own name in reply. A sweet surrender upon his lips. _Mine. You are mine._

You drive your finger in harder, pulsing it in and out. You grind your hips into the sheets. You wedge the pillow below your hips, needing the leverage. You thrust into it with endless abandon. But with each movement, the sheets suddenly become too rough against your sensitive skin, overstimulating every nerve. Your finger slides all the way inside as you turn back around. It is not enough, you realize. Your mouth salivates. You need something far more substantial.

_Just begging to be fucked._

“Yes…Please,” you plead into the empty room. You need him. You hate to admit it, but the truth pulses through your veins, coursing down into your fingertips. You need Loki. You desire him. His touch but perhaps also more. Your hips thrust up into the void. Your eyes fall shut as you imagine it: his hands on your hips, his fingers working your clit, not through the sheer silk of the swimsuit, but rough and raw against your swollen flesh. The tidal wave builds, pressing down. You bit your lip and his name leaves you once more, a little louder than before.

Across the room, Loki stands, watching. You cannot see him. He has made sure of that. At first, he thought perhaps he would leave you to rest for the morning. He owes you more than his simple thanks. What you’d done, what you’d given him, it was more than he deserved. But as he made to leave, stepping past the threshold, you turned and moaned within your sleep, calling to him subconsciously.

“Loki… please…” you mumbled as you clutched onto the sheets where he once lay.

It was enough to pull him back into the dark confines of the room and wait. Wait and see what sort of sweet sin you may indulge in when you thought you were alone.

And sure enough, you let your own lust consume you. He watched as you stripped bare, his own need growing hard and desperate. He palmed his stiff length as your hands wandered and settled between your legs. He watched as you struggled, your fingers hardly enough to satisfy.

 _Oh pet, I could so easily give you want you need_ , he thought as he stroked his hand up and down through his trousers. But they quickly became a nuisance. His hand slid beneath to grab hold of the entirety of his girth. _Just say the word and I will happily give you everything._

“Oh God… I…” You stifle the rest beneath another desperate moan. _Want your cock… need it._

That is when Loki decides he will need to conjure up some mischief of his own. One simple thought, a suggestion, is pushed into your mind. A small sliver you could easily ignore, or chose to embrace. The decision lie within your power of will.

You gasp a startled moan, your eyes shooting open and then immediately closing tight again to see more than a mere glimpse of the image you’ve received.

You are lying against your belly atop a wooden bench. You are blindfolded but every other sensation is now heightened, sharp. Almost painfully acute. Someone is behind you, clicking metal cuffs around your wrists and locking them together. He takes the braided cord of your hair and tugs, hard. It jerks you back into an arch. Your pelvis lines up with the wooden ledge. It rubs against your bare sex roughly. You moan but do little to resist, only surrender.

“Do you want it?” He asks as he leans into your back. _Loki_. When you do not answer, he asks again with more of a bite. “Do you want it?” He pulls tight against your braid once more.

“Yes,” you moan in reply. “I want it.”

With a hand to your hip, pulling you closer, you feel him line up to your entrance. He rubs the tip up and down over your slit. You whimper helplessly. Thats when his hand lifts away and comes back down upon your ass with a sharp slap. At the same moment, he slams into you fully, up to the hilt.

“Yes,” he growls in satisfaction. “Yes… fuck. Thats what you wanted, isn’t it?”

When you do not reply right away, he slaps you again, harder.

“Yes, master!” You reply with tears in your eyes.

“What a good little slut you are for me. Taking all of my cock.” He wraps your braid around his fist and tugs. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, master!”

Back on Sakaar, you pinch and tug against your nipple as your other hand increases its rhythm. You are crying out, desperate for the vision to be reality. To be stretched. To be claimed. To be owned the way he so desired from you. The truth of it all comes crashing into your soul, taking your breath along with it: you want to be owned by him as well. You want to be his. Entirely. And Loki can see it too, in the way you react to his planted vision. How much pleasure you derive from the hinted pain, the control. He growls, deep in his throat. 

_ You are mine.  _

“Loki!”

“That’s it.” A disembodied voice answers your call. “Keep going.” But you dare not open your eyes. The fantasy is too real, fuel for the kindling. You try to rationalize that it is merely the blood rushing from your skull that is making you hallucinate. You’re sure of it. But the voice is liquid seduction, pulling you deeper.

“So close,” you mumble incoherently. “I need to cum…”

“Not yet,” the voice answers. “Slower.”

“But I…”

“Slower,” the voice repeats, sternly, followed by a deep, predatory growl.“Put another finger inside.”

Your eyes flutter open but you see nothing, just your Sakaarian prison and the sunlight rising against the window pane. And still, you try to obey and indulge further into disillusion. You press a second finger against your entrance, but the first is enough. It refuses to budge, to slide in with any sort of ease. “I can’t. It’s… too tight.”

The bed shifts beneath you with additional weight. Just before you, like an image cast against reflective glass, is the impression of your master. Transparent, barely here nor there. Another illusion. You breathe in deeply. _This can’t be real._ But intangible as he may seem, he hovers over you, crawling up over your body to capture your quivering lips with his mouth. He is real. He is here. He is taking what is his.

You pull free from your sex to hold him to you, to deepen the kiss the way you desire. Your hands slide up his bare back. You grip onto his taut muscles as his tongue swirls around your own. You gasp into his mouth and he pulls free. Breathing heavily, he slides down your chest. He places kisses along his path to destruction. First the delicate swoop of your breasts, bare and arched toward him. Then your navel and the soft hair above your mound. He pays extra attention to that, playing with the delicately curls between his fingertips, smirking in appreciation. His hands move with a gentle, almost ghost-like pressure down over your thighs. His fingers rise and stop before meeting your reckoning.

“Do you want my assistance?” He partially purrs. His eyes begins to glow with the pulse of mischief, fueled by his dark brand of lust. But he stills, waiting for permission. For your willing and desperate surrender.

“Yes… please.” You hate the weakness in your voice. The way he has so easily broken through every barrier. But the need is too great for regret. _I need him. I need this. Just this once._

But he is like a drug to you. Every little taste brings you crawling back for a heavier dosage.

“Part your legs for me, pet,” he whispers softly. You do so without question, letting your knees fall to either side. You are exposed and vulnerable to a man who would bring you into hell just as easily as he could ascend you into heaven. You watch as his expression shifts from control to utter wonder, reverence. He licks his lips as he stares intently at your dripping cunt displayed for him. His fingertips hover just before your sex, as if unsure how he wants to begin.

“Loki, please…” You reach out for him, stroking the side of his face tenderly. His mouth slacks open and he turns to kiss your delicate fingertips. At the sometime, his own glide across your hand, falling toward your cunt. You sigh at the sensation and mutter a curse when his finger pushes your own back into your wetness, together with his. You wince at the pressure, the strain against your tight entrance.

“Relax,” he instructs. His image gradually becomes more opaque as if forming from the air by the sheer force of your desire. “Let me in. Accept me. It will feel so good. I promise you.”

But what power did the promise of a liar hold?

He moves nearer. Until his face is level to your warmth. His other hand rests on your knee, holding you wide open the way he needs. You are trembling but he leans down and kisses the hand positioned above your sex. His breath is warm against your mound, sending shivers up through your center. He carefully pushes his finger in deeper alongside your own. He is stretching you, getting you ready for something much larger. It hurts at first, making you wince, but you follow his instructions. You steady your breathing and focus on the smooth sensation of his touch as it glides across your inner walls.

“You are so wet for me,” he encourages as he dives deeper. It’s a strain to allow him in but the further he goes, the better it feels. “Is this what I do to you?” You can hear the sound of your arousal sloshing against each movement. The push and pull, the give and take. “Do I drive you so mad you have to find release by any means?”

You shake your head but he knows it’s a lie. You both do. He laughs devilishly as he kisses the point where your thigh meets your pelvis. The sensitive enclave of skin that makes you whimper on contact.

“I’m right here,” he says with a knowing smirk. “You need only ask.”

But you close your eyes, afraid. You feel the vibration of his laughter rough against your thigh.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he whispers in a soft command. “Move with me.”

You hesitate, stalling your hand. He moves slowly so that you might follow. And you do as soon as his eyes meet yours. The emerald shimmer of his gaze captures you in their brilliance. You are trapped. But not against your will. Together, your fingers begin to pulse in sync. In and out. He continues to kiss around your pelvis as you do. He leaves gentle caresses along your thighs, around your lips and finally, just above your throbbing clit. You reach out and hold his head there by his tuff of hair. He peers up at you, licking his lips in an unspoken question.

_Tell me you want it. Tell me you want my lips against you. Say the words and you shall have everything you desire._

But you throw your head back against the pillows. You can no longer bear witness to your own depravity.Your moans leave you breathless, gasping. He decides then that he does not need your permission. As master and King, he would take what he wants from you. You would be thankful for the pleasured result.

“Loki!” You shout in surprise the moment his lips meet your clit, sucking gently. His tongue swirls around the pulsing bud and sweeps down across your sodden lips.

“Fuck… You taste divine,” he purrs against your mound. His finger quickens but you are at a loss. You cannot move, cannot think. Your mind is lost in a swirl of pleasure and question. A man has never touched you the way Loki has. You’ve never wanted it, not with such severe desire as now. But Loki has awoken something within you. Truly a beast of his own making. “Virgin wine,” he laughs before his tongue presses once more against your clit. “I cannot deny such a delicious cunt.”

Your fingers thread through his hair. You tug against him roughly as your pleasure boils deep within your stomach, thundering, flooding through eruption.

“Oh my god. I’m going to cum….” You whimper.

“I want to hear you beg for it,” he growls into your pussy, lapping up the wetness that seeps around his frantic movements. “Beg!”

“Please make me cum, Loki!” You pull tightly on the dark strands until his teeth meet with your soft lips, nibbling in protest. You cry out, hardly able to speak. “I want it… please…”

“Not good enough,” he snarls, stopping completely.

“Master, make me cum!” You try again in a loud moan. “I’ll do anything!” The momentary pause turns the pleasure into pain. Your desperation is a torture within your sex.

“Anything?” He asks with a hint of cruel intent.

“Yes… anything.”

He grins in victory.

“I want to fuck you.” He kisses where both your fingers meet inside your cunt. “I want to take your precious virginity and make you my personal whore. To take you whenever I please. Wherever I please. Would you like that?”

“Yes, please, master!” You are hardly listening. You are blind to reality, hearing only promises for your release within his demands.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, resuming his former rhythm in full. He gives your clit a soft, delicate lick. You wither beneath him, all rationale a thing of the past. “Good girls get to cum.”

And you do, forcefully against his hand and mouth with a loud scream. It leaves your body shaking, thrashing as the waves wash over you with powerful thrusts for attention. Your legs fall weak against the bed. Loki remains positioned between them. For a moment, he simply stares down at you, watching as your pussy throbs against his fingers with the residuals of your release. But when you pull your own finger free, he follows. He brings it to his lips and happily sucks it clean of your sleek. He hums against it, eyes rolling back in pure delight. You watch in shock and awe. Your chest raises and falls deeply. You clutch your hands over your heart and attempt to hide your shame, pressing your thighs together. But he stops you with his palm pressed hard against your knee.

“You’ve made a mess, pet,” he scolds. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

He dives between your legs and sucks and licks at your overstimulated sex. You gasp and cry out. It’s too much. His tongue, his teeth, his adoration. “I could eat your pussy all day,” he moans, drinking you in. “Such a beautiful little slit.” In emphasis, he glides his tongue painfully slow through your folds, gathering your wetness. You cover your mouth with your hand, unwilling to give him the further satisfaction of your whimpering. But you are sure he hears it still the way he laughs beneath you.

“Would you like a taste?” He asks before you lunges at you and kisses you regardless. His tongue is bitter, sour with the evidence of your deliverance. But you want his kiss more than you realize, moving desperately against him. He smiles and pulls away, leaving a strand of your mutual exploration like a spider’s webcaught between your lips.

“How long were you watching me?” You whisper as the blood rushes back to your brain. You reach for the sheets to cover yourself but he catches you and pins your wrists at your sides.

“Long enough to hear you crying out for me.” His hair falls forward over your face, trickling your nose. “Why don’t you admit it, pet? You want me.”

You turn away to avoid his alluring eyes. “Loneliness breeds insanity,” you whisper while hoping he will not hear.

“Are you lonely here?” He asks with sudden, startling concern. But it sharpens into disgust and rage, boiling at the edges with a crimson hue. “Is it only my proximity that makes you want me? The mere fact that I’m here?” His voice is a sizzling hiss. His grip tightens on your frail wrists. But the power, the dominance, is exactly what you desire. Exactly what the vision implanted in your mind. Your cheeks flush and your heart begins to race once more, given no time to settle. 

“That’s not it,” you reply meekly.

“Then what _is_ it?” He snaps before leaning down, just a breath away from your lips. He teases you, tempting you with the promise of another kiss. But smirks over you as you wither beneath him and try to bridge the gap to touch him.

“Bastard...” you mutter.

His hand goes to your throat, gripping you tight. It pulls the air from your lungs and you stare up at him with wide pleading eyes. Afraid.

“Is that the kind of language you’re going to use now?” He snarls. “Maybe I’ll make it so you can’t speak at all.”

Your gazes are locked, testing the other. A pulse passes through you. Like lightning striking ore. His hand is gripped over your collar. The one thing that could stop him. You need only say the word. But you won't. Determined to be the last to break, you reach up and grip tight to his wrists. But it is not as a means of resistance, but rather, to hold his hands steady. To keep them there. His resolve flutters for a moment and his grip loosens just enough that you are able to gulp in a gasp of air. Once you have, he tightens his hold once more and the lack of oxygen makes you light headed. Just when you think it may break you, your vision blurring at the edges, he releases you again. You breathe in deeply. You stare at him and in his gaze is the answer. This is a game. A dance. He gives. You take. His grip tightens and you fall into the pleasure of his control. In letting him breathe for you. The strength of his hands around your neck is a seduction you did not know you wanted until now.

“You like this,” he says without question. As if confirming the truth of it himself. You nod against his hold on your throat.

“I love this,” you correct, straining to get the words out as his grip tightens once again and you are choking, gagging for air. “Loki…”

Suddenly, he releases you completely, jerking his hands away. You breath in deeply and lift your fingertips to the spot where he once held you. It feels raw and bruised. Maimed by his rough, violent sort of affection. You dare to look up at him, but do not speak, afraid of what he might do next.

“I could hurt you,” he says in low admittance with his eyes downcast upon the bed. “Worse than I already have.” He turns and starts to tentatively reach for you. His fingertips brush your throat. “And yet the temptation you pose is far too great to ignore.”

You take hold of his hand, sitting up straight to be parallel with him. “I should hate you,” you start to say. He bulks in reaction, ready to let his rage reign. But you continue. “But I don’t. Being here with you… its the only good thing about this place.”

His eyes search, scanning your expression for any hint of a lie. They dazzle, gleam with a sheen of wetness. Then he has the side of your face held in the palm of his hand. His fingers thread through the hair just at your scalp.

“If we continue this, there won’t be any going back,” he says firmly. “No second thoughts. I will have you. All of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you confirm as you nod into his hand.

“And you will obey me. Completely.”

“Yes.”

“I will hurt you. I will take you anyway I desire. And you will happily give yourself to me. Am I making myself clear?”

This time, you do not speak but simply nod, knowing there would be no other way. Otherwise you would drive yourself mad over the possibility until the day you left this place, and left Loki for good. _What if I had agreed? What would have become of me?_

He leans in to kiss the top of your head, surprising you.

“And still you want this?” He whispers against your skin. “You want to be with me?”

“More than I should.”

“Then you shall have me, pet.” He kisses the side of your face, beside your eye. Then, he places another at the corner of your mouth causing you to part your lips in anticipation. He smiles before he breathes into you, giving you the gift of his life. 

“When shall we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did a bit of breath play in this one, as its a favorite of mine. I'm really enjoying exploring different kinks with this AU. More wax play to come. Any other kinks you think Loki/Reader would be keen to exploring together? Always open for suggestions!


	9. Performance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, lovelies! It’s the age-old excuse that life got in the way, but I truly do not know where these past few months have gone. With the heat of summer, I felt it only appropriate to give you another chapter dedicated to wax play. I have been so meaning to write and continue this. Finally got some time to sit down and work on this so I hope you enjoy! Thank you for sticking with me despite my absence!

**Written to:**

_Bad Guy_ by Billie Eilish

_You can be the boss_ by Lana del Rey

* * *

Loki holds your chain loose behind you, letting it drag along the floor as you walk. The train of your grown skirts the marble floor with each step. A cascading river of silk. He is behind you by a few paces, watching your every move as you lead the way forward. His kitten on a leash.

“I need you to be perfect for me tonight,” he whispered moments earlier. He dressed you methodically. His hands surveyed every inch of flesh as he smoothed the garment over your body. As if examining for imperfections. But in his eyes, he found none. “They will be watching us. Every move. Every word. Do you understand what you need to do?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

This had been your idea after all. A way to enact revenge on the Grandmaster while alluring potential allies; Sakaarians privy to information you would need for escape. But still Loki kept insisting, as if he needed to further confirm your commitment to the plan as the evening drew nearer. 

“I know what I need to do,” you added. 

He linked your original collar back around your neck. The metal felt unnaturally cool against your flesh. You winced slightly, adjusting. Your throat was still tender from his violent grasp a day prior. He noticed your reaction and stilled with his hand against your collarbone. He traced a slow, almost affectionate line around the budding bruise, a dark blush along your throat. His eyes narrowed with a self-reflecting rage. 

“If this is too much,” he began. “We can retract our proposal. Try again another night.”

“The Grandmaster wouldn’t be too happy about that,” you said. “I’ll be fine.” You tilted your head up to meet his eye and gave him a soft smile to ease both of your nerves. 

“You’re sure?” He asked again. His hands smoothed down the bare length of your back, tracing over the band of lace held around your breasts. He needed you to be willing and able. He needed to have your permission to do the things that were once only fantasy between you. Punishment now turned to play. Strategy. “We can do this once you are more prepared for it.”

“How could I even begin to prepare for something like this?” You asked, testing him. 

“We discussed the possibilities...”

“I think I just need to do it,” you whispered in reply. “I need to experience it to know.”

He regarded you briefly, his gaze hanging on your parted lips. Then, he nodded softly as he took the long chain link in hand. “You remember your word?”

“Violet,” you confirmed. The best alternative. You could not dare use the words that commanded Loki’s gifted collar. If you did, your plan would be found out with those words sending Loki spiraling across the room in rejection. No one could know the power you held, the authority. They needed to believe Loki held all the control, and perhaps so did he. So the collar would remain in the room, leaving you unprotected. 

“Good. Use it if you cannot take anymore. Do not hesitate.”

You nodded and watched as he stashed the supplies into the deep pockets of his coat: three thin candles, dark red. You tried not to wince, recalling the scars on his back, the deep commanding burns still branded across his skin. But he assured you he knew the proper procedure, knew how to prevent such harm against you. And you would have to trust his words, his expertise in the matter.As much as you were able. It must take a lot for Loki to relinquish even an ounce of control over to you. But there he was, thinking first and foremost about your safety. 

“Thank you, Loki,” you said softly as a small smile crept across your lips. “I know you don’t have to do all of this for me. You are being quite... kind.”

You tried to take a step forward toward the doorway but he yanked you back by the chain, hard enough that you let out a whimper when the metal dug slightly into your tender neck.

“I would remind you that this is not love,” he said firmly, to himself as much as to you. “I won’t be gentle. I won’t be  _kind._  This is merely strategy to assure our safe return home. Don’t assume otherwise.”

You wanted to respond, to ask why then had he held you in his arms after that night. Why had he continued to kiss and tend to your neck until you drifted back to sleep. Why had he looked at you as if you may break before his eyes and tear out his heart with your last breath. Instead, you did not speak but simply turned against the force of his restraint and led him through the doorway.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be kind,” You finally responded as you were halfway down the hall. The metal chains clanked against the floor beneath your bare feet. “I want you to be yourself. Authentically. Whatever that means.” You turned over your shoulder to look at him. His gaze was already held upon you, his eyes gleaming. “I never said I wanted a kind man. I said I wanted you, Loki.”

He was silent in response and it was enough for you to keep walking, head held high. 

When you arrive at the party, you know this night will give birth to a different sort of game. One of endurance. One of will power. There are many acts lined up for the evening: fire dancers, aerial acrobatics, sword swallowers. Many already dance across the stage like painted vagabonds. But they are the tamer performances. The true entertainment would unfold as the evening progressed, as the skies faded into darkness, letting the demons come out to play. Lewd and erotic displays would rotate throughout the evening on a central stage. Loki told you to prepare for any manner of sights. For debauchery in all its many forms. But you are not to show alarm or discomfort. You must blend into the crowd, at first. 

That is until you and Loki are scheduled to perform yourselves.

You shift through the crowds, your shoulders stiff, your spine rigid with tension. Men, women and creature alike all eye you with hunger and longing. You turn away from their gaze nervously. Loki leans against your back with his hand held to your neck, gently. 

“Relax, pet,” he whispers. “There is time yet for your worrying.”

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “I’m simply thinking.”

“Thinking of what exactly?” You can feel the curve of Loki’s smirk against the nape of your neck. A chill chases up the base of your skull, settling there. “Things you cannot share with your master?”

You shake out of his caress without answering. Instead, you pull him further into the room until you reach a wall. You slide against it, needing its chill at your back, and it’s vantage point. With a sigh, you being to scan the room for any sign of your gracious host but find only strangers, all alien and alluring. Loki watches you, just as they do, studying every shift of your body. He slithers up to your side, dropping the chain enough that it hangs loose at your side. 

“They are watching us,” you say. 

“Best make this look convincing,” he whispers in reply. 

“Like we have to try,” you say lifting your gaze to meet his own. You hope your eyes portray little hint to the true turmoil within you, causing your heart to race. But if it does, he makes no remark. Instead, his free hand slips around your waist. He begins to play idly with a sliver of exposed flesh, a tender spot above your hip. He traces lines with his nails along the aroused flesh until you begin to wither against his hold. A tease of what is yet to come. Of what playgrounds of pleasure the two of you may come to explore beyond this evening. 

“Loki…”

“Yes, pet?” He practically purrs into your neck before kissing the spot gently. At first, words are lost to you. Only moans of approval escape your lips as he continues to touch you softly, kissing along the expanse of your neck. He nibbles and bites but never hard enough that you fear the deliverance of more pain. This is tender, a prelude in sharp contrast to what will soon follow. A balm over your tumultuous heart. 

Finally, you manage a single question that halts the movement of his hand momentarily. “You aren’t nervous?”

“Should I be?”

You shake your head, avoiding the eye of a passing Sakaarian whose glare is nothing but predatory. You push closer into Loki’s side, giving him the freedom to continue exploring the parts of your body left exposed outside the silky attire. In answer, he slides his hand down and begins to gather the fabric at your back up toward your waist. This gives him the liberty to cup your ass fully, while leaving the crowd none the wiser. He proceeds to give you a firm, if not possessive, squeeze in plain sight of your observer. Their eyes lock across the party like two swords locked in a duel. Finally, the stranger jerks his head away and sulks into anonymity, leaving you at Loki’s mercy. He laughs in victory. The sound of it tickles your neck. 

“Don’t be nervous, little one,” he whispers. “I will make sure you thoroughly enjoy this.” His finger slides between your legs, dancing over your barely concealed slit. You bite your lip to qual the tempest beginning its path toward destruction. “Would you like me to make you cum now? Or should I save all of your orgasms for when we take to the stage?”

“Later...” you insist, pressing your thighs together. “I’ll need to keep my head clear.” 

“Of course.” He pulls his hand away, concealing the rejection behind a too convenient smile. “How then shall we pass the time?”

You spot a small section for seating. Loki follows your gaze and soon, leads the way to your new destination. He sits first, pulling you down into him so that his knee can effectively serve as your resting spot. He holds you to him with a firm grasp upon your waist while he leans back into the cushioning lounged, relaxed.

Another performance begins on the stage before you. Fire dancers remain as torchlights around two creatures who slowly undress themselves for the audience. Bit by bit their clothing is removed and tossed into the awaiting crowds. Once bare chested, the other creatures begins to fondle their partner, licking and suckling at their breasts. 

Loki purrs behind you, clearly enjoying the display. A strange tightness comes over your chest. You need a distraction. 

“If this works, if we manage to find a way off this planet, then what?” You ask.

He hesitates for a moment, as if off put by your question. 

“Then nothing, pet,” he finally answers as a kiss to your neck, pulling away with a lingering caress along your ear. He rubs his hand along your rear, indulging in your curves once more. “Then you return to Midgard, and I to Asgard. Safe and sound. We’ve discussed this.”

“And we never see each other again?” The words leave your lips before you can properly assess their repercussions. You wince as Loki jerks you around to face him. You straddle him with hands pinned beside his head for balance. Behind you, a blast of fire blooms into the air from the mouth of a humanoid dragon, alighting Loki’s eyes with the flames of his own ignited passion. 

He lifts his hands to rest upon your shoulders and studies you with that ethereal gaze. “Is that not what you want? To go home?” He asks gently. 

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” you answer honestly.

You shift back around, unable to look at him, and adjust your dress. You look up to take in the sight of the current performer when someone slides in front of you and blocks your view; the fire effectively extinguished. 

“Well hello there, my little earthling,” he says as way of greeting. The Grandmaster’s teeth gleam under the haze of the room. White fangs dripping with cruel intention despite the mask of a smile. “I hope we are enjoying ourselves.”

“Very much so,” Loki answers over your shoulder.

“I hope our meeting last night did not leave you worse for wear. I can get a bit... unbridled when I do not get what I want.” The Grandmaster’s smile widens. 

“Don’t we all.” Loki’s grip tightens on your waist, nails finding your hip. You slide your hand over his, to soothe his building rage burning cold across his skin. 

“Are you alright?” The Grandmaster asks him with a laugh. “You look quite pale.” 

Loki twitches but you are quick to respond. “He is eager for our performance this evening,” you explain. “I do hope we are able to entertain you.”

“There are many ways  _you_  could entertain me, my dear,” he growls. His long taloned fingers trace a smooth line across his bottom lip. He reaches out, a nail posed beneath your chin to force your gaze. Loki’s hand goes unnaturally cold, bitter ice upon your sweltering flesh. But he cannot stop the Grandmaster. Not here. Not when even the smallest misstep promised the sweet kiss of death. But you would not let him win. Not when Loki had suffered so much at his hand. 

You lean forward into his touch, til you are mere inches away from the Grandmaster. Your lips hover so close to his you can taste the bitterness of his breath against your tongue. He smiles, ready to claim his prize. But just as quickly as that prize has been offered, you snatch it away, burning it to ash.

“I am his,” you affirm with a glare and a show of your teeth. “Only his.”

The Grandmaster jolts back. His face darkens, a stark contrast to the pale streaks across his cheeks. Loki makes a noise behind you, perhaps a laugh. But you are not afforded the time to ponder its meaning. 

“Then prove it,” the Grandmaster snarls. His eyes so unnaturally blue as he stares down at you, too harsh to hold. He turns and gestures toward the stage as a pointed command. _Go. There. Now._ “Show me how you belong to him.”

Loki shifts beneath you and you fumble to stand, awaiting his next move. 

“We look forward to the opportunity,” Loki says with a bow to the Grandmaster before taking a fistful of your chain and leading you toward your awaited fate. You follow suit, before Loki takes hold of your hand, giving it a firm squeeze of unity. 

“Let’s show him what true obedience really looks like,” he says with a hint of planned mischief. His eyes shimmer against the firelight.

He leads you up, step by step onto the stage. Before you, a single chair has been set out for the act, facing forward toward the anxious audience gathered below. The crowd stirs with anticipation. Their gaze shifts from you to Loki; each of them wearing a mask dark with suspicion. 

“On the chair,” Loki orders loud enough to appease the audience. But his eyes are held to you alone. “Now.”

As commanded, you slide into the awaiting seat, facing forward. But quickly, Loki’s fist is in your hair, yanking you back with the force of a built aggression. He leans over your back and snarls into your ear a new, corrected order. 

“Straddle it.”

Blushing, you immediately spin around, wrapping your legs around the backing of the chair.

“Good girl,” Loki praises as his hand slides free from your hair to stroke your cheek. He pulls away and begins to stalk your perimeter. He stops just behind you, reaching forward to tear at your dress. He peels it away from your shoulders untilyou are exposed to the voyeurs below, save for a slender strip of lace held around your breasts. You make no move to stop him, forcing down whimpers of protest. You have to comply to every command, every force of his hand. And you have to look as if you enjoy it. But that, regrettably, would not be difficult to do. 

Lastly, in preparation for your artistic display, he unlocks the metal collar and peels it away from your neck. You breathe deeply in relief, gasping when it clatters against the floor beside you, discarded. 

“I promise to make this feel so good,” he whispers before turning away to face the crowd. 

“Tonight, we would like to indulge the good people of Sakaar in a display we hope you won’t soon forget,” he announces. Blinded by your position, you are held at his mercy. You grip the chair in nervous anticipation, waiting for the first drops of wax to drip down onto your bare back. You can only hear him as, from the confides of his jacket, he pulls out the three pillars of wax and presents them to the audience. 

“Fire can be an intense source of pain.”

With the flick of his fingers, a single candle is illuminated by a fragile dancing flame. He holds it up high, showing it to the crowd with the slow swoop of his arm. “Wounding, seething, burning.” 

You stare forward, studying each one of the onlookers. You find the Grandmaster positioned high above the rest in a makeshift throne, lounged back with his head rested against his knuckles. Bored but intrigued at your choice of display. He smiles when he catches your eye, only mildly amused by what you hope to accomplish. Defiant, you clutch the chair and swivel your rear, tempting Loki behind you. He lets out a low growl and tilts the candle so that a single drop falls just before your bare heel. You can feel the heat of the wax even without it touching your skin. You swallow hard. 

“But fire also means passion. Desire.”

Loki turns to face you, taking slow, methodical steps closer. He leans down, holding the candle out to the side, while he takes the side of your face in his hand. His treasure to behold.

“Pleasure.”

He kisses you deeply with the fullness of his mouth, taking you in, drinking from each wanton moan. His tongue dances around your mouth until you are withering beneath him. Your knuckles whiten atop the chair. He pulls away abruptly, leaving a tendril of saliva between you before he greedily licks his lips and breaks the cord. He moves with such grace, a fluidity to each step. You cannot help but watch him with eager anticipation. 

“Eyes forward, little pet,” he scolds before adding, “Eager, aren’t we?”

The crowd laughs but you are forced tohide your nervous twitching as your knees buckle against the chair. 

“I will begin slowly,” he says behind you, softly. “To get you more comfortable.” And to the crowd, “She’s a virgin after all.”

More laughter. He is working his audience, appeasing them alone. You are merely a prop. You feel your face go as red as the wax. You want to scream. To run from this planet and every cruel stare it’s brought with it. The humiliation you’ve endured just to survive. And now this. Converted into a spectacle for their mere enjoyment, at the cost of your own skin. Your rage begins to boil. It forces its way between gritted teeth, when Loki leans into you, whispering in your ear. 

“Focus on me. Only me,” he says tenderly. “They do not matter. Only what I am giving you. What you are giving to me.”

_What am I giving you, Loki?_

He steps away before you can vocalize the question and moments later, the first of many droplets fall onto your bare back. Hot circles swirling into flesh. You gasp at the shock of it. The harsh reality of molten wax scaring your skin. You could say it. _Violet_. One word and this would be done. You wouldn’t have to know more of the pain that was sure to follow. But you are quiet, still. 

He waits, letting you adjust. Or perhaps waiting for that word to signal an end. He gives you the gift of stillness before beginning again, taking your silence for permission. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

A few more fall to either side of your spine. You hiss and prepare for the rapture of pain. But it does not hurt nearly as bad as you had imagined it would. It stings, yes. But the sensation that follows is a warm burn you did not expect to enjoy. The heat radiates down into your pelvis, warming your core. You arch into it. 

“More?” Loki asks. Though you can hear the truth behind his question: “Are you alright with this?”

You nod with your face held forward and your eyes plastered shut. 

“More, master,” you affirm.

You hear the scrap of his shoes against the stage as he circles you, just once, before settling back into place. 

“She wants more,” he announces to the crowd. “And more she shall receive.”

This time, the delivered wax is no mere droplet but a solid stream, a river of red. You bend back into the delivered pour as it trails down your spin. It settles in a hot pool against your tail bone. A snake of fire. A caress from the devil himself. You sing your pleasure as a deep moan, mouth wide with wanting. Your breathing is heavy, labored as you settle into that tempered burn. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it, pet?” Loki whispers. You can hear his satisfaction within the vibrato of his voice.

You nod, numb to reason, numb to all feeling other than surrender. You have given up your very will power to the man at your back, the would-be villain of old. It is a terrifying thought, a cruel reality. But more frightening is the realization that you would do it again and again, if only he’d continue to give you such forbidden pleasure. 

Fire and ice. God and the devil. Master and maker. You would take either side of the coin. 

You clutch at the remnants of your dress, still held in tatters around your arms and center. The cool caress of silk is a blessing you do not deserve. But his cold skin is what you truly desire. 

“I told you it would feel so good,” Loki says with a kiss to your shoulder. You tilt toward him, trying to respond, to vocalize something other than such animalistic moans. But you find no strength to speak. 

“I keep my promises,” he adds before hetilts the candle once more, landing on your shoulder blades this time. He paints your back with red hot wings of molten pleasure. His fallen angel.

You thrust forward into the chair as you grind into the leather. Your shoulders pivot, rolling, urging him to continue. And he does, giving you more of his red affection. You mumble his name, trembling. 

You push back against the chair as the wax rolls and lands at the base of your spine, settling into intimate dimples of your flesh. 

“Master...”

“Yes, my sweet?”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder. Pressed against the leather of his trousers is the defined edge of his desire. You melt into the chair, bent over the base with your ass presented to him as a prize. His eyes reflect the heat of his loins. 

“Want your touch,” You whimper pushing back. “Please...”

“And you shall have it.” His voice is so low, barely audible. “Turn around.” 

You obey his command, shifting in the chair to face forward. The dress falls away, forgotten. Unnecessary. He stands at your back, forcing you once again to tilt your head to gaze upon him. In your desperation for that cool serenity of his skin, you reach up and hold onto his arms. Though they are covered, clothed to hide his scarring, you cling to him as if he himself were the balm for every wound. He stares down at you, mouth parting, eyes glistening.

“Oh, sweet girl, you are doing so well,” he praises before he leans in to kiss your forehead. His lips linger against your skin. “I’d give you the world just to watch it burn.”

Two candles are lit, held in either hand. Helets the wax fall upon your breasts in two streams, watches as their red fingers dance down to your navel and solidify before reaching your pelvis. The burn is sweet but more painful than the previous play had been. But still you cling to him, gazing up at him with a look that radiates the strength of your own desire. You moan your appreciation loudly, his name a prayer upon your lips. 

The river of wax continues until you are coated in it like a second skin. Splattered and painted. Realizing you’ve bitten your lip once more, you lick the wound and part your mouth, your eyes following after. Below you, is a crowd with joined expressions of awe. They all stare forward. Amused. Envious. Nearly convinced that you truly are his obedient slave. And sitting atop his throne, the Grandmaster clutches tight to his scepter. His eyes are aflame with both a growing hatred for the man at your back and an equal, deepening desire. Perhaps for you both rather than one or the other. 

“I think we can do better than that,” Loki says to you as he assesses the audience’s reaction. He seems oblivious to their king: Or perhaps he only wants it to look that way. 

You turn to regard him, murmuring, “What  more is there?”

He laughs. “There is so much more,” he answers as a kiss upon your lips. Soft, a whisper of a caress. “I cannot wait to show you.”

In his hand, a knife materializes. The blade shimmers under the firelight. Lightening dances down its length. Your heart stops in terror. For the first time since being on this planet, you are truly, irrationally afraid. You try to stand but Loki pushes you back with his hand tight around your throat, holding you there. 

“Stay very still for me,” he whispers in command. “I’d rather not see you bleed tonight, pet. Another night perhaps. But not tonight.”

You swallow against the force of his hand. He straddles the chair atop your legs, a further restraint. And with a cruel, mischievous smile pulling tight across his lips, he begins to delicately glide the tip of the blade down the front of your chest. He puts no pressure into it, as soft as misted rainfall. Perhaps he is merely letting you adjust to the threat, or the lack of harm it truly offers. But with the twist of his wrist, he pushes in just enough to pry free flecks of solidified wax from your flesh. Your thigh soon becomes littered with remnants of it, falling off in scattered chunks. 

You are completely vulnerable to him, allowing him free reign over every ounce of your existence. Life and death hang in a balance upon the tip of that blade. If he so desired, he could plunge it into your chest and be rid of the burden you inflicted upon him. But there in lies the crux of the strange relationship you had unearthed with the God of lies. You had to trust that he would not harm you, despite all signs warning otherwise. You had to trust the pounding rhythm of your heart telling you that you too want this with him. You want his pain and his pleasure. You want his approval and his praise. You want everything he is willing to give.

Loki flicks the blade up over the lace that covers your breasts. The tip dances over your perked nipple. A threat to expose you. You tremble on cue. 

“Later,” he promises with a devilish smirk as he leans down into you. He tilts your chin and kisses your neck, rather than your lips as you so desire. He bites down and brands you with the marking of his ownership and you cry out for him. The crowd responds in an uproar. Applause and praise fill the air like an earned symphony. You let out a sigh of relief. The night is a success, and you would soon reap the benefits of new alliances. But now, the rush of adrenaline has drained you. The heat left behind by the wax threatens to burn holes into your skin, melting your heart along with it. You collapse forward into Loki’s chest, exhausted. He wraps his hands around your back, stroking over the hardened trails of wax before kissing the top of your head once more.

“You did so well,” he praises as his hands find your hair, massaging your scalp. “I’m so proud of you.”

Your eyes widen as shock renders you numb before him. You must be hearing things. He wouldn’t have, couldn’t have said something so selfless, so... human. 

“I think we have shown them enough for one evening.” Loki steps back, away from the chair before reaching out to offer you the comfort of his arms. “Let’s go to bed, little one.”

Weakened, you eagerly fall into his embrace, letting him scoop you up and carry you off the stage. You are often surprised by the strength he hides. How despite a meager frame, he holds you with ease. 

Over his shoulder, you stare at the collar that remains discarded on the floor. He makes no move to claim it. A statement you are sure the Grandmaster will take note of. 

As Loki makes his leave, maneuvering through the thick crowd, you vaguely make out remarks of praise from the audience. How they reach out to Loki, daring to touch him. But all you can focus on is the feel of his cold hands against your skin. The musky, earthy aroma of the curve of his neck where you’ve nuzzled in defeat. All you can do is stare up at him in utter amazement that this man is so much more than you’ve ever given any man credit for. 

He catches you staring and smiles down at you before shifting his gaze back onto the path ahead. 

“Don’t go falling in love with me now,” he laughs. A joke. 

But the only word your heart can scream in response is “Violet”.  


	10. Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this while on vacation this weekend off and on between activities. Hope you enjoy! Thank you all for the kink suggestions. I hope to keep incorporating them as they fit into the story.

You barely remember the walk back. Your consciousness fades in and out of clarity. Your head lulls from side to side over his shoulder like a broken doll, held together by his touch alone. But every so often, like blinking, there is a break through the darkness. Mostly the lights overhead which illuminate like solitary suns. But you focus more of your attention on those fleeting moments when you can make out Loki’s voice. His soft, cold caress. His smile.

“Almost there,” he says, though he may as well be under water. “Just a little further.”

You try to speak but your voice too is muffled. As if you are drunk off the scent of him, or perhaps weakened by the subtle burns across your skin. But still your mind is a fog of adoration. Of wanting. Of needing him. Of a dependency you did not succumb to so willingly. 

_This is wrong. I shouldn’t let him have such an effect on me. I need to keep a level head about this. Wake up!_  

Again you murmur, protests within your head converted into meaningless sound. 

“Hush, pet,” he says softly as he strokes beneath your knee. “Rest for now.” 

You close your eyes again, welcoming the reprieve from speech. You burrow your face into his leathers and breathe in deeply. His laughter vibrates against your cheek but you pay it little mind. You focus fully on the rhythm of his heart, thundering as loudly as your own. 

Moments later, a door opens. You blink and take in the sight of your shared suite. Though it is buried beneath a blurry haze. All you can make out are dueling moons mantled high and framed within the window. As if falling, you are set down, losing the comfort of Loki’s embrace. You let out a whine involuntarily to which he merely chuckles. You reach out toward the edge where he stands. Your fingers splay out to indulge in the soft caress of the bedsheets beneath you. 

“I’ll only be a moment,” he reassures and you watch, helpless, as his silhouette moves across the room to the awaiting basin. The sound of trickling water fills your ears and you sigh at the cool comfort it evokes. You try to sit up as you slowly regain coherence. That is when you realize you are naked, save for two threadbare strips of lace across your more intimate areas. You reach up to cover yourself but your hand immediately falls away. What the people of Sakaar have seen of you is past tense. No sense being embarrassed by it now. No correction could be made. And as for Loki, he has seen all of you, head to toe. Heart and soul. 

But you are also clothed in a new type of garment. A thin layer of wax still resides across your stomach and it’s sister set along your shoulder blades. As you move, small fragments break away, falling into your lap. You take a piece between your fingers, pressing it together. Your thumb comes away with a waxy residue. 

The water stops and Loki returns to your side. You blink and finally he comes clearly into view. He is bare before you, his leathers removed and discarded somewhere beyond your line of vision. His scars are only pale marks now, having healed with God-like speed. Your gaze falls lower and you swallow hard. There is his command. He is hard for you. Waiting. With the offering of his hand, he smiles.

“Come here,” he orders softly. But it isn’t truly a demand so much as it is a need. He needs you. So you take his hand and follow him on tip toes toward the awaiting bath. 

“Are you in pain?” He asks gently. With one hand thread through your fingers and the other at your back, he lets you put your weight against his side. 

“It stings a little,” you admit. The path of wax left a deep burn into your skin but you know it will not mare you. It will heal. You are very grateful for that. “And I feel a bit... lightheaded.”

“That’s to be expected.” He plays with your hair, stroking it tenderly. “The bath will help.”

He pauses to lift your hand and kiss your knuckles.

“You did very well for your first time,” he praises. “You’ve made me very happy tonight. I want you to know that.” His voice is low but more genuine than you realize he could muster. “And I think we have successively secured a new ally.” 

He holds up a small piece of parchment. Your hesitation must be plainly written across your face because he continues on. “This was given to me in secret as we were leaving,” he clarifies. “It is a lead if nothing else.”

“Meet me in the gardens tomorrow. I want to help you,” you read aloud. You narrow your gaze upon the message. “Can we really trust this person, whoever they are?”

“Probably not.” His hands trail down your back before cupping your ass gently. You give a meager yelp in surprise but do little to stop him. “But I am willing to see how he thinks he can help us. He must have been quite pleased with our performance.” He smooths his fingers along the curve of your bottom, murmuring in delight. “The Grandmaster, on the other hand, didn’t seem too pleased.”

“Wasn’t that the goal?”

Loki laughs. “Very much so.”

You make a move to step into the still water but he halts your progression with a firm pinch to your rear. This time your response is a small shout as you turn to face him. 

“We need to get this off of you first,” he explains as his fingertips dance up, and settle over the band of lace across your breasts. With a single fingertip, he traces a delicate circle around your hardened nipple. It is just barely concealed beneath the floral pattern. You whine and arch toward his hand when his knife appears once more. He holds it up at eye level so you might get a better look at it. It is not a simple knife, but a dagger. One of a set you know he is infamous for wielding. Slender, like a needle, and embedded with small emeralds that reflect the true hue of his devilish eyes now gleaming down at you. You know he has killed many enemies with that weapon. And so too could he end your life. 

“Does this frighten you?” He asks as he daringly points the edge of the blade toward your exposed neck. Your mouth goes dry, but you shake your head. His eyes alight with promise. “It didn’t seem to scare you too much before.” He glides the blade over your chest, tracing your collar bone. “Perhaps it actually excites you... is that it?”

Again, you shake your head. You refuse to meet his eyes. But he forces your gaze by taking the blade and turning your chin back toward him. He is glowing, radiating with the potential you are offering but have yet denied. 

“What if I were to take this knife,” he begins as he guides the blade back down your chest, just as he had before. But this time, he hooks it beneath the band of lace. He gives it a small pull. The fabric frays slightly under the provided tension. “And cut your clothes right off of you? Would that arouse you?”

“No,” you lie. But you are trembling against his hold. You press your thighs together, unable to fight the pounding rhythm that radiates through your core. 

“I think it would. I think your tight little pussy is just throbbing with anticipation, isn’t it?” With the flick of his wrist, he slices the lace in two. It flutters down your body and lands at your feet like an arrowed bird. He growls in approval, taking a breast in his mouth and suckling his prize. You cry out in pure pleasure, threading your hand through his hair to hold him steady. 

“Don’t lie to me, pet,” he warns before gliding his tongue around your nipple. He gazes up at you from his perch with a dark glare.

“I’m not... lying.” You are weakened by his touch. Words fade into useless moans of encouragement. 

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he moans against your breast. “Do not anger me now. I’ll have the truth and nothing else.”

“I...” The admittance is caught in your throat. 

“Yes?” He lets the blade dance over your nipple. 

“I...Loki!” You moan in surprised delight as he slides the blade under the lace at your hip. It snaps, freeing you of that final shred of clothing. 

He chuckles in delight before dropping the blade to the ground as he slides down your body. He holds tight to your hips as he guides his face toward your glistening sex. He breathes in deeply and sighs, letting the air stimulate your cunt. The acute pain of your own arousal grows unbearable. 

“Here is your truth,” he says with a kiss to your soft tuft of hair. “You are dripping for me.”

Without warning, he glides his tongue across your slit, gathering your wetness on the tip. You moan and reach out to hold him between your legs. But he is quick to pry your hand away. 

“Don’t stop,” you whine. 

“Just a taste.” He licks his lips with a cruel smile as he stands back up. “I will have more of your delicious cunt soon enough. But now, we need to get you washed up.”

With the guidance of his hand, he helps you step over the edge of the tub and into the awaiting water. You quickly sink into it’s cool embrace and let out a sigh of relief. You close your eyes but not for long. Loki’s joined persistence within the bath quickly alerts all of your attention. He settles in at the opposite end, lathering a square of some sort of soap in his hands. 

“Come closer, mortal,” he instructs with the beckoning of his sudsy hand. Timidly, you obey by scooting forward. You keep your knees bent toward your center as a sort of blockage around your modesty. But it serves little purpose. Loki glides a hand between your legs, parting them easily. With a firm grip to the back of your thigh, he pulls you forward with enough force that you fumble into his lap with legs spread wide around him. But in shame, you bury your gaze into the water. 

He takes the tips of fingers to lift your chin. When you manage to look at him, you find he is smiling at you with such understanding you’ve never seen in him before. “I’d have your gaze upon me always,” he says. “Never look away. Never feel ashamed in what you desire.”

Lost in the reflection of his gaze, you move closer until your mouths are only a breath away from one another. You shouldn’t want him this way; shouldn’t want him to kiss you so badly. But the weight of that desire presses down on your lungs, makes it difficult to breathe. He provides the air you need, exhaling into your parted lips. 

“And what do you desire, Loki?” You dare to ask. 

But before he can reply, he turns away. He gives all of his attention to your shoulders which he lathers in the the soap. His hands work their magic into your skin, perhaps even real magic, given the way your muscles slack with the loss of their former tension. 

“Right now, I desire nothing more than to reward you.”

He moves his hands down the planes of your back in long, appreciative strokes. He is careful not to apply too much pressure where the wax had once been, now scattered debris amongst the frothy water. You let him work, giving no sign of protest. Eventually, you give into him completely by resting your head upon his shoulder. 

“Do you miss your home?” You ask as a whisper into his neck. 

He hesitates for a moment with his hands stalling at your shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve ever really had a home,” he finally admits. And as if thinking better of it, he presses into your shoulders firmly. “Now isn’t the time for such questions.”

“And when would?” You ask quickly. 

Loki sighs against you. “What do you want to know, pet?”

“If Asgard isn’t home,” you begin as you lean back to look at him better. “Then where would you like home to be?”

“That... I’m not sure I know how to answer that.” His face contorts with discomfort. But still you persist. 

“What about Earth?” You propose with a hopeful smile. 

His face relaxes slightly. “Why would you suggest Earth?”

“You seemed to like it well enough to invade it.”  

At that, he narrows his gaze. “That wasn’t entirely my doing.” 

You perk up, your back straight. “It wasn’t?”

“Enough, pet,” he says with an exhausted sigh. “My patience is beginning to wear thin. Choose your next question wisely.”

You sit in silence, gnawing on your bottom lip contemplatively. Finally, you think of something he may deem suitable to answer.

“When was the last time you did something for yourself?” 

He pauses, blinking down at you as if he is only now seeing you, noticing you there beside him for the first time. 

“What I mean is... you always seem to be doing something because you have to,” You clarify. You stutter as if you can’t get the words out quick enough to avoid alarm. “Because you have to impress someone, keep yourself in their favor, survive. When have you just... lived?”

His hands fall into the water, washing away the remnants of soap.

“Turn around,” he says in a voice so low it could have been just a guttural response. A snarl. 

You blink at him. You’ve made a mistake. Now is not the time for crossing that barrier of intimacy. Physicality was one thing but breaching into the territory of soul and mind was still very much taboo. Regardless, you shift around as quickly as you can manage, obeying with only minor hesitation. It’s shameful how easily you’ve melded into the role of obedient slave. You almost hate yourself for it, but not enough to resist. Not enough to end this dance. The water sloshes slightly with the shift of your body but settles quickly, unlike your heart. 

He reaches around you, arms underneath your own, to fondle and caress your supple breasts. His touch remains gentle, careful. You release a deep exhale and all but a few of your worries escape along with it. You lean back to encourage him to continue. Your head bends against his shoulder and you arch toward his hands. He works circles into your breasts, peeling back what layers of wax still remain. His fingers linger on your nipples, hardening them with the simple brush of his touch. He leans into you. His jawline brushes against your cheek. 

“This feels a lot like living,” he confesses as a kiss beside your ear. 

Your heart thunders up into your throat and you try to swallow it down. But it persists. All of this is a trap that will surely get you killed. Or perhaps, you have already faced death and this is your cruel, tempting purgatory. “Loki, I...”

“I’d like to try something,” he interrupts in a whisper. “If you’ll let me.”

You hesitate but eventually, nod. He is asking permission, which on its own is odd but he has shown you a whole other side of himself tonight. Full of surprises. 

Without instruction, you rest your head against your knees and wait to see what he might do next. Hours seem to pass before you finally feel his touch again. He moves closer and curves his chest against your back. You grip tight to the edge of the bath, tense. But when his hands go to your scalp, massaging gently, you relax immediately. The pleasant aroma of something akin to lavender follows his movements. You melt beneath his touch. Closing your eyes, you breathe in deeply and let the clean scent wash over you. Soft moans escape your lips as you push back into his hands. You let him cleanse you of every worry, every fear held tight around your heart like a cage. You let him comfort you after he himself had been the orchestrater of your pain. But you want it that way. To be healed and mended by his hands alone. 

There is not a single word exchanged between you from that point on. No more questioning. There doesn’t need to be. He continues to wash your hair in a serene silence penetrated only by sighs and murmurs. Once he is satisfied with his work, pouring handfuls of cool water over your head and down your back, he pulls away. Droplets of the liquid dip off your brow and trickle across your lips.  

“How do you feel?” He asks softly. 

“Good... I feel good,” you confess. You shift around to finally meet his gaze once more. He leans back against the other side of the bath, watching you. Waiting. He reaches out to you and lazily begins to stroke your legs.

“As you should,” he hums in reply. He takes your foot in hand and with his thumbs pressing firmly into your heel, massages away any remaining ache.  

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be kind,” you say slowly, carefully. “This... this is kind.”

He takes in your words, a confession of sorts, with a contemplative glare. It doesn’t stop his work, as he continues to press circles into your arches. “I won’t always be kind,” he tells you. “I can’t always show my affection in a way you are accustomed to.”

“Then how do you explain this?” You demand. “How do you explain holding me, washing me, caring for me?”

“This is a necessity,” he snaps as he drops your foot unceremoniously back into the water with a splash. “I am not entirely barbaric. Would you rather I ignore you, leave you to tend to the wounds I inflicted?” He sits up off the back of the tub and hovers over you. “If I’d left you after our performance, without closure, without  _car_ _e_ , your mental state would begin to deteriorate.”

Unsure how to reply, you turn away and defeated, hold your gaze toward the window. You are irritated by your own weakness to have thought he might admit to something. That he may hold similar affections toward you. This was just a game to him after all. And you, were merely a pawn in it, too weak to accept it. But to your surprise, Loki goes on. 

“What we did, for me, it wasn’t just a performance,” he says suddenly. “Did you enjoy what we did?”

You consider for a moment. The burns at your back are the markings of a cross roads. If you say yes, there will be siblings just like them. Perhaps wounds far worse, and far less tangible. If you say no, you will be letting go of the chance to take your life by the reigns. To see how far you are willing to go. How much your heart can take. 

There is only one answer, only one truth. Despite your need for stubbornness, you turn away from the window. You give him a subtle nod. 

“I need to hear you say it.” His teeth grind together as he speaks. It is clear he is growing irritated. 

No turning back. No second guessing. You would have to be fully committed or end this completely. Not willing to surrender, you know you will need to give him more than such a simple answer. More than a mere nod as he has instructed. Words, emotion. You lean forward until you are pressed against his chest. He looks down at you in a mix of shock and awe. With your arms posed behind his back, gripping the bath, you whisper your reply into his lips. 

“I loved it,” you admit with a trembling voice. 

He smiles devilishly in reply. “Did you now?”

“I did,” you affirm.

“And do you want more?” He asks. His lips brush against yours lightly, a tease. “More pleasure, more pain?” 

“Yes,” you say under your breath. But it had been loud enough for him to hear. With his hand gripped to your forearm, he spins you around. He presses his palm hard against your back and bends you over the edge of the basin. With your torso half obscured by the water, you feel him press into your rear with enough force to send that water pouring over the rim. It spills onto the floor as your breasts press into the porcelain to keep from toppling over. His thick cock wedges between the crease of your bottom, rubbing incessantly at your sensitive bum. He thrusts back and forth, up and down, until you cry out in mild defeat with an arm splayed out over the edge as you take in the feel of him. The girth of his cock, the warmth of the head in stark contrast to his cold physique. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can wait,” he growls in your ear before bitting and tugging on it gently. “What are your limits, pet? Where do you draw the line?”

He reaches down between you and guides his cock toward your entrance. You gasp and jerk back when you feel him prod at your wet opening. Your lips part for him, welcoming him in. But he just barely breaches the surface. 

“Is this too much?” He asks. “Will you stop me? Tell me no? Push me away?” He gives you shallow thrusts, just enough to tempt you into submission. And despite your better judgment, you push back against him with a whine. He laughs lightly and kisses your neck.

“I want it,” you moan. “I shouldn’t but fuck... I want it.” 

“If you want something, take it,” he tells you as he moves your hand to meet his cock. “Use me to make yourself cum.” He wraps your fingers around his base to urge you on. 

At first, you are unsure how to proceed. You slide your hand over his length to assess the situation. He moans in approval behind you, glad for the attention. Finally, you maneuver the tip toward your clit and use it as a stimuli. You gasp at how good it feels: his raw skin against your hot sex. Tears paint your eyes as you rock your hips against him to get a better feel. Your cunt throbs with want as you use him.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Just like that.” His grip on the edge of the tub is solid. His breath on your neck is hot, demanding your further attention. You turn to meet his lips and at last, steal an overdue kiss. He gladly opens his mouth for you and slides his tongue around yours hungrily. You reach back to grip the back of his skull and deepen the kiss. 

He is the first to break away. He grips your ass and thrusts into your hand and consequentially your clit. As much as you feel you have control, his cock in your grasp, you know he still holds the reigns. He could stop this at anytime, leave you breathless and deprived. Or he could start something entirely new, breaching  new bounds for which you are not prepared. Without thinking, you push back against him and spin around so that you are facing him. You straddle him and press your sex back upon his. 

“You said I had control in all of this,” You growl as you thrust forward across his cock. Your slick cunt slides over his length; the water provides little resistance. He throws his head back over the tub, his eyes rolling in his sockets along with it. His hands grip hard on your thighs but he moans in admitted defeat. 

“Oh yes. You have... fuck... you have control, pet.” He pulls against you, urging you on, needing completion. But still you tease and tempt him, all the while fulfilling your own need. You roll your hips and get familiar with the sensation of being on top. Of straddling his hips and using him for our own selfish desires. But he is letting you. He wants you to do this. Another game you are set to lose. The warmth deep within your belly grows, cascading toward eruption.

“I’m gonna...” You can barely manage the words. You are so close, too near the high to rationalize. The friction is placed just right; right where you need it. 

“Fuck, yes, don’t stop,” he moans beneath you. He urges you to continue, shifting your body back and forth against him. 

Before you can think to put an end to it, you are singing to the heavens the song of your completion. Head thrown back, eyes fluttering closed, your nails dig into his chest as the only means to stay grounded. His hands press higher, holding onto your back. You grind into him, riding the last moments of a forbidden wave as he finds his own release. He thrusts up against you and with a grunt, you feel the warmth of his seed spill across your sex and stomach. You are coated in it, shrouded in his cum like a badge of honor. Weakened, his breathing becomes labored but he reaches out a hand to feel where you both are connected. You try to lift yourself off his soiled sex but he pulls you into his chest and holds you there. He keeps one hand around your middle while the other burrows into your hair, gripping down without pulling. 

“I won’t be able to let you go. You do realize that, don’t you?” He whispers into your skin. At first, you think he means it literally. But the truth of his words is far more damning.  

“I don’t want you to.” Your lip trembles, or more accurately, your whole body shakes with the residuals of your orgasm. “Loki, don’t... don’t let me go.”

“You really want to continue this with me?” He strokes your hair and you can feel his cock gradually begin to soften between your bodies. 

“I do.” You kiss his neck. He tastes of sweat and the bitterness of soap. You are sure you must taste the same. “I think I need to.”

Loki relaxes more beneath you and so too do you meld your weight into his embrace. You lie still, uncaring about the state of the water and the filth you’ve mutually created, undoing any prior cleansing.  

“Tomorrow, we will speak to this man,” he says as he rubs your back gently. “And maybe then, we will go home.”

But he makes “home” sound like a promise more akin to the needs of your heart rather than a destination. And for that, you find it hard to breathe once more. You close your eyes and cling to him if only to indulge in the false security of this moment, in the fragile haven of his arms. 

 

 


End file.
